receive. But how could it be otherwise than thoroughly incontinent? For that which holds to no principles, can be contained by no ends, but must run out as through a sieve, and be spilt in nature. This mere loss of itself is the great fact appertaining to philosophy. There is no road so straight but is a maze to it; no plain so wide and open, but is as bad as a primeval forest to this erroneous philosophy. It is thoroughly desorienté, always looking for the sun to rise and set in the north or in the south. Far from studying the senses, it has been content with talking of them, and casting them all into one indistinct formula, of Sensualism or Sensationalism. Yet if the senses have a unity and may be grouped under term, they have also a variety, which is necessary to fill the unity. What then is the end of the senses in which their unity must be found? What order of the senses is the means to that end? In other words, what are the various degrees of sense from above to below? What is the series of the bodily senses as realized in the world? Will it be believed, that philosophy has not even made a list, much less a catalogue raisonnée, of this part of the goods and chattels of knowledge? The natural history of man and animals, which is even now so rich in information on the subject, has never been appealed to by the philosopher to furnish data for the prosecution of the inquiry. Neither waking nor dreams, neither imagination nor memory, as they are known to mankind, have contributed to our knowledge of sensation. The one empty formula of Sensualism has been seized as already complete, and set in all its lights; and this is what philosophy has done for the human senses! those very senses which are the upper limit of the material world.

There can be no difficulty in seeing the precise intellectual mark of phi losophy in this as in its other attempts. If we take the presumable sensation of babyhood, and for a moment suppose an intellect embedded therein, it is very plain that the baby (of whose undiseased faculties, we beg pardon for the comparison,) might fairly broach the "great questions" of the mature philosopher. The facts of the case would justify the questions. For there is, first, a most indistinct universe, in which the ear discerns no directions of sound, and the eye is unaware of any distance between itself and objects, nay, in which all things appear as one confused somewhat, as it were the blank internal area of a single outline or formula. Seeing that its understanding is uninstructed, our baby must perforce be a Berkleian or a Kantist, when it thinks that all nature is in direct contact with the mind; it must be a philosopher on general principles, seeing that to its vision all things are equal, or in other words, that there is no variety in the unity of sensation. And if the poor infant could resolutely refuse to admit the further stages of intellectual growth; if it could seize upon Sensationalism to the exclusion of a progressive doctrine of the senses; if it could fasten and fix upon itself that state in which objects seem to touch the vision, and the instrument of sensation, the object and the subject, are not consciously distinguished; why, in this case, every such baby, stopping once for all at the threshold of what might otherwise be a great career, would furnish a model of actual Idealism and Sensationalism, and when opposed by others, of scepticism too, before which the Hegels and the Humes would burn dim, or sink indeed into dark insignificance.

The short statement is, then, that the philosophers formally bridle up their nags at the first stage of every subject; and are, if possible, outside the very senses, or leading the life rather of vegetables than of men. Sooner than divide them into five classes, we would cast them into that invisible unity, which they love so dearly, and designate them all by the one term of Impossibilists; or if a concrete name be preferred, they may indeed not unjustly be denominated, (following a great man, who was no phi

losopher,) according to their plain function, as "Intellectual Extinguishers." For have they not put out the very lights of the seven golden candlesticks?

As they have omitted the senses from their category of Sensationalism, so they have caused their dependent physiologists to omit the real forces of nature from the doctrine of bodies. It is true, that metaphysics has its dynamics and its monads, but these it has never connected with natural things, so they are by no means referable to the sciences. Their monads have no relation to the veritable units with which nature teems, and of which the individual man, with his incalculable myriads of parts, and thereby his concentrated oneness, is, as the unit of society, the grand type and exemplar. Nor have their dynamics any connection with the blood and spirit of our race, or with the auras and forces of our universe. So far from this, they are "pure" of all determination; no means between them and the lowest sphere are even possible; but in their utter formlessness they operate, if at all, immediately upon the gross bodies of sensible nature. To proclaim the existence of such dynamics, is nothing more than to give words a position without a meaning. They are the true visionary entities, and not those "animal spirits" which, according to Mr. Morell, they have substituted. Indeed, there is no weaker part of the excellent volumes, which suggest to us these remarks, than that in which the author glances at physics. He evidently has not the slightest conception of that grandeur of principle in outward nature, which will ultimately fit it to be the habitation of a posterity, as we hope, better than ourselves; better than the philosophers. In assuming, as he does, the solidity of the nervous system, he freezes man in his vital parts; at any rate, he imbeds all motions in the lowest or sensible substances, and leaves the understanding no objects in the human frame. In this case the theory of the body becomes absolutely identified with the phenomena it presents to sight. Yet as the soul dwells so far above our understandings, how then should it operate upon such a nervous system; a system conceived to be grosser in its conditions than that of the heart and blood-vessels, in which latter a distinct fluid plays the highest part? Immediately, of course, as we have already seen. Unintelligibly, then, also, we rejoin. For when a vast chasm of difference, as between the soul and body, is filled by no means, it is obvious that it is not to be bridged over by the human understanding, which itself is a means, and all whose workings generate means, or comprehend means. Immediate operations between two things not seen to be connected, must in their nature be occult, and must terminate, and give the coup de grace to the sciences. But who, then, is to be the credible witness of the immediacy? Not the man of facts, of course; for he only knows what he sees, not what he does not see; and why should the strength of his senses be erected against the strength of others' reason? It is altogether unfair, nay cruel, to put the unhappy microscopist into the jury-box in such a cause, and to attempt to lawyer from him an excuse for the active blindness of the metaphysicians. Let the physiologists keep out of the hands of philosophical crimps, who will lure them aside from their known road into strange houses, and plunder them of both their goods and their faculties at once.

But what idea can philosophy have of the dignity and refinement of the soul, when the latter is supposed to perform all the operations of the body immediately? What leisure can our essential inner man have for the high company and joy of his own sphere, if he is literally always shoving us along in our daily movements? Henceforth let him be called a porter, and not a soul; and let him take the body upon his brawny back whither he wills, in place of governing it by an intellectual but real efflux.

It is indeed hard to be serious with such doctrines as these, especially when they are put forward as high and "pure" views of the subject. Let us, however, endeavor to illustrate it with our utmost attainable gravity by a practical case. On one side let us suppose a body of railway-directors, on the other a good, able locomotive, with an iron line for its field. Here we have two things; the one dead, but to a certain extent organic or mechanical, the other alive. Now, the one desires to operate on the other; the animated being upon the inanimate. According to philosophy, the directorate must put its own shoulder to the wheels, and roll them with a continuous effort down the whole rail. The flesh must compete with, and overcome, the iron in brute force! Practically, however, the reverse is happily the case. The directors, probably, never see the locomotive at all, as neither does the soul see the body, except as represented in the sphere of ends. But in multiple subordination they produce under them other functionaries, the last of whom alone, as a subsidiary soul, or lowest directorate, comes in contact with the engine. But is this last being so hapless that he has to put his main strength against the iron, and to impel it with his immediate body? By no means. There is yet another lower series to be produced, in which rank, order, and respect for the dignity and precedence of the very elements, must be preserved, or the effect will fail. In short, there is a ladder, with the triple steps of fire, steam, and machinery, before the wheels are finally reached by the presiding human power.

Why then, we ask, in the name of common sense and of all our practical understanding, should we expect that of our souls, the like of which we are justly unwilling to do, lest we should degrade and damage our very bodies? But here again the mischief has come out of that most mischiev ous consciousness of the philosophers, which has wrongly informed them that they are so absolutely alive, such "pure" spirits, and that other things are so absolutely dead, that a medium between the two is impossible: although their own existence in the body, and the contemplation of both spiritual and material things by one mind, might have surely given a practical refutation to any such fabulous impossibility.

But here we imagine the philosophers will easily incline the balance of the argument in their own favor. For to end the controversy, what need they do but deny the existence of the soul? At all events, deny it in any but some "pure" sense, in which no distinction can be appreciated by the understanding between it and nonentity. If this be their game, we may resign them the victory, as it will enable us to pass on to the last sad charge which the History of Philosophy brings against them.

If they have neglected the substantial facts of man and of nature, it is because they have also slighted the facts of the Christian Revelation. This is perpetually confessed by Mr. Morell, whose profoundly pious mind is visibly shocked by the daring intrusion of metaphysicians upon sacred ground. It is curious to note how this enlightened author, one of the noblest writers and thinkers in modern English literature, after many a generous, and too generous an eulogy of the metaphysical doctrines which have, from time to time, been propounded by philosophers; after surveying the lower parts of a system with manifest admiration, is compelled to a sudden halt in ascending, from the discovery that a Babel is erected upon the seemingly good foundations, and that the architect, like one demented and heaven-stricken, mutters nothing but strange contradictions on all the great principles which are the doubly-assured sureties of the good and the wise. He praises the living bark and the bright green shoots, and in the next breath honestly tells us that the great tree has lost its head, and is touchwood to the core. specting Dr. Whewell's views on morality, "he would rather observe an

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unasserting silence." When he comes to speak of the head and front of the system of his favorite, Victor Cousin, (viz., his ideas of God and inspiration,) mark with what a three-man-beetle" he "fillips" the upper parts of that voluble Eclecticist. The veil of a clear philosophical style will hardly conceal the horror which he feels, when it becomes his duty to show historically how the vulgar atheism has been taught politeness, and clothed in flowing robes, by a nighty group of assiduous Egoists. But with all this, the wonder is that he should not have forsaken these polluted ruins, where the bittern and the obscene owl are his fellow-watchers in the unmitigated night.

His philosophical tendencies, however, and free charity, are too strong to allow him to confound the abuse of his favorite pursuit with its legitimate use; and hence, though for want of a knowledge of that "second temple, whose glory shall be greater than the glory of the first," he lingers in the deserted building of the old philosophy, yet it is with no attachment to the ugly sights and discordant sounds of that unpeopled place. We augur that if he pleases, he is intellectually already prepared, by much tribulation of thought, and many puttings away of old and cherished notions, to receive new garments, and step once for all into the safe portals of a better edifice.

If we have not analyzed his work more reverently, it is because we have found nothing worthy of note in the multifarious philosophies which he has come to bury, and not to praise. They contain, as we before observed, many common recognitions of those initial principles which it needs no philosophy to discover, and in so far as this they are ordinary records and journals of plain truth. But as philosophies, they exclude love from life, the laws of order from intelligence, the multiformity of sense and nature from sensation, the principles of organization from physiology, real dynamics from the doctrine of body, Revelation from the category of fact, and God from all things. They deprive man of his Father, his home, and his destiny. In truth, had we nothing better in the world than these philosophies, human wickedness, anger, and desperation, would now be at their fiercest pitch.

LINES,

ON OBSERVING THE CROSS WHICH SURMOUNTS THE SPIKE OF GRACE CHURCH, FAINTLY AP PEARING THROUGH A DISPERSING FOG.

Оn! emblem of our hallowed faith,

That crowns yon sacred spire,

Shine thro' the mist, and prompt our hearts
To pray for Heavenly fire.

So, shall no mental clouds obscure
The true-the holy cross,
While heavenly visions we discern→→
Nor deem the world a loss.

The transverse wood by man devised,
For malefactors' doom,
No ignominious title bears,

Since Jesus left the tomb.

New-York, June 1st,

But now, a glorious symbol shines
Of Christianity,

Allusive to the great event
Which sealed man's destiny.

If, free from doubt, within our hearts
We can the cross descry,
Before its pure and holy light
Shall hell's dark shadows fly.

No more the fatal mists of sin
Our souls shall overspread;
Our great Satanic foe shall flee
Aghast with trembling dread.

Where'er the glorious sign appears,
May light and grace be given,-
And there the blessed Gospel sound,
To call our souls to heaven.

THE RED ROSE;

A TALE OF THE WAR IN LA VENDEE.

FROM THE FRENCH OF A. DUMAS.

(Concluded.)

THUS Blanche and Marceau passed the first days of their sojourn at Nantes, until the time appointed for his sister's marriage was near at hand.— Among the presents which he had ordered for her, he selected a valuable set of jewels, which he offered to Blanche. The latter gazed at it for a moment with the natural delight of a young maiden, but then closed and locked the casket. "Jewels do not suit with my condition," she said, sadly, "while my father is perhaps flying from village to village, begging a morsel of bread to support life-seeking a cavern for a hiding-place-while I myself am outlawed. No! it is by simplicity of apparel that I must evade scrutiny. Remember, I might be recognised." Marceau urged her, and she at last consented to accept an artificial red rose.

As at this time all the churches were closed, it was necessary that the marriage ceremony should be performed in the council-house. The ceremony was short and sad; the young maidens missed the altar, decorated with wreaths and flowers-the canopy over the head of the youthful pair, beneath which they were accustomed to receive the blessing of the priest, who said to them, "Go, my children, and be happy."

At the entrance of the council-house a deputation of boatmen welcomed the young pair. Marceau's rank had procured this testimony of respect to his sister. One of these men, whose exterior seemed not unknown to the general, held two nosegays; the one he gave to the bride, the other he reached to Blanche, upon whom he gazed sharply and steadfastly. "Tinguy! where is my father?" she cried, turning pale.

"In Saint-Florent," replied the boatman. "Take these flowers," he added, in an under tone," they contain a letter. Long live the king and the good cause!" Blanche would have detained him to question him farther, but he had disappeared. Marceau recognised his guide, and admired not less the devotion, than the dexterity and boldness of the boor. It was with a beating heart that Blanche read the letter. The Vendeans had suffered defeat after defeat; the population of some of the neighboring villages had emigrated, to escape from desolation and hunger. The rest of the letter contained expressions of gratitude to Marceau, for Tinguy had informed the Marquis of the rescue of his daughter, and of her present situation. Blanche was sad; this letter led her back to the horrors of war; she no longer supported herself as usual upon Marceau's arm; she spoke with a deeper, softer expression.

During the ceremony a stranger was ushered into the hall, who wished to impart information of the greatest moment to the general. Marceau did not at once perceive him, but he suddenly felt Blanche's arm tremble within his own; he looked up, and the two found themselves in the presence of Delmar. The representative approached them slowly, with his eyes fastened upon Blanche, and a smile upon his lips. A cold sweat stood upon