ble even when compared with similar compositions of his illustrious friend Sir Walter Scott,-and this is no scanty praise. As they have been long before the public, and are to be found in popular works, it would be almost an insult to your poetical readers to give them a quotation. I now come to his Miscellaneous Pieces, some of which I consider as his most successful efforts. The "Ode to an Indian Gold Coin" is, with the exception of some confusion in the first stanza, a most exquisite little poem. It comes nearer than any thing I ever saw to Burns's "Mary in Heaven." Can any thing be more beautifully conceived, or more forcibly expressed, than the following verses? Slave of the mine! thy yellow light Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear.A gentle vision comes by night My lonely widow'd heart to cheer; For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave, To roam in climes unkind and new. The verses 66 To Mr James Purvis" need only be read to be at once appreciated and admired. Purvis, when on this eastern strand And scenes long faded from my eyes, Since first our bounding steps were seen Active and light on Denholm's level green! Playmate of boyhood's ardent prime! To trace the banks where blackbirds When the gay shroud and swelling sail Bade each bold bosom court the gale; The first that tried the eastern sea Was Gavin, gentle youth, was he! His yellow locks fann'd by the breeze, Gleam'd golden on the orient seas: But never shall his steps be seen Bounding again on Denholm's pleasant green. We both have seen the ruddy tide Of battle surging fierce and wide; And mark'd with firm unconquer'd soul The blackest storms of ocean roll; While many a sun-ray, tipt with death, Has fall'n like lightning on our path; Yet, if a bard presage aright, I ween, We both shall live to dance once more on Denholm's green. pp. 180-182. The following sonnets are, perhaps, as good as most other sonnets. On an Old Man Dying Friendless. To thee, thou pallid form, o'er whose wan cheek The downy blossoms of the grave are shed! To thee the crumbling earth and claycold bed Of joys supreme, instead of sorrows, speak. Deep in the silent grave thou soon shalt rest; Nor e'er shalt hear beneath the ridgy mould The howling blast, in hollow murmurs cold, That sweeps by fits relentless o'er thy breast! No warm eye glistens with the dewy tear For thee, no tongue that breathes to heaven the vow, No hand to wipe the death-drops from thy brow, No looks of love thy fainting soul to cheer! Then go, forlorn! to thee it must be sweet Thy long-lost friends beyond the grave to meet. p. 13. grave, Which oft thou moistenest with the morning dew. To thee the sad, to thee the weary fly; They rest in peace beneath thy sacred gloom, Thou sole companion of the lowly tomb! No leaves but thine in pity o'er them sigh. Lo! now, to fancy's gaze, thou seem'st to spread Thy shadowy boughs to shroud me with the dead. p. 17. It would be a tedious, and, in all probability, an useless task to enter into a minute examination of Leyden's poetry; and I only would beg of the readers of poetry to consult the work for themselves, and not to abandon the direction of their own judgments. But what disposition of mind ought a reader to bring to the perusal of poetic composition? I would not venture so far as Sterne to say," I would go fifty miles on foot to kiss the hand of that man, whose generous heart will give up the reins of his imagination into his author's hands; be pleased, he knows not why, and cares not wherefore;" for this is making man a merely passive, when he ought to be a rational being. Pope speaks with more reason: A perfect judge will read each work of wit With the same spirit as its author writ. Now, this is all I wish—I wish a man to sit down in singleness of heart to the perusal of poetry. If his feelings, notwithstanding, be seared by an immoderate love of worldly wealth, or if his imagination be polluted by the pursuit of gross pleasures, he will not be found to be a very adequate judge; but if he be feelingly alive to the beauties of nature both animate and inanimate and if he has attended in some degree to the silent workings of his own heart, he will be no incapable judge of the most genuine of all species of poetry-the poetry of truth and nature. Yes! I will repeat it if he be alive to the beauties of the VOL. VII. original, he will be able to judge of the imitative art; and if he be possessed of those sensibilities-the fountain from which poetry springs-he will be competent to distinguish whe ther the stream be pure or adulterat ed. A reader, such as I have describ ed, will, in my opinion, be able to judge of the poetry of Leyden, for it is, generally speaking, the poetry of truth and nature. From this, indeed, must be excepted a few of his shorter pieces, and not a few passages in the "Scenes of Infancy," where the au thor has endeavoured to work up his pictures more with a view to make an impression on the mind of his readers, than to give vent to those legitimate feelings which the original picture was calculated to awake in his own bosom: that is to say, he has dressed ficial style, which is too generally callhis thoughts in that ornate and artied poetic diction, when he ought to have ushered them forth in the nak edness and simple dignity of truth. And so far he is wrong; but no human composition can be perfect, and there is certainly sufficient evidence of genius in the writings of Leyden to make a candid reader confess, that the soul of poetry is there. To conclude: Let us contemplate this aspiring man struggling from the shades of his native obscurity-overwhen the harvest of all his hopes, and coming every obstacle-and, at last, of the hopes of his countrymen, seemed lying in full luxuriance before him-see him at once cut off by the mysterious hand of Providence. Such a contemplation will engender a mingled feeling of exultation and sorrow, and will undoubtedly dispose every man to sit down with a friendly temper of mind to the perusal of any thing that has come from the pen of the late Dr Leyden. A BORDERER. DIALOGUES ON NATURAL AND REVEALED RELIGION. MR EDITOR, I NOW transinit to you a farther portion of my Dialogues; but before embarking your readers again in the stream of disputation, I wish them to pause a little on the position with which my last communication concluded. It is what I consider as Q q the most original and important part of all my speculations, and if I have not succeeded in establishing it on irrefragable grounds, I have yet very little doubt that it will hereafter be completely established by some more accurate and profound inquirer. I mean my position, that all our belief, connected with the system of nature, rests on a previous intimation conveyed to us, that there is a system, and, accordingly, that we cannot take a step in existence without acting upon principles, which, when followed out to their clear consequences, infallibly land us in pure and perfect theism. If I am not greatly mistaken, this theory of belief will be found to open into very elevated views of the human mind, and of the constant dependence with which it leans upon the Deity. It, indeed, shows us, that " in Him we live, and move, and have our being," since we cannot think a thought or perform an action that has not a secret reference to his exist ence. I think, too, it will be discovered, that it is the want of this view which forms the great and leading defect in Mr Hume's philosophy. His system hangs much better together, and seems to go deeper into the human mind, than those of the philosophers who have risen to oppose him. When they speak of principles of belief, of which they can give no farther account, than that they invariably exist in all human beings, and which, accordingly, they slump under the vague and general name of common sense, they are evidently not philosophizing-they explain nothing; there is no connecting tie by which these different principles are linked together, or by which the belief in which they all terminate can be shown to be one and the same thing. Mr Hume comes much nearer the point when he speaks of belief as a sentiment or feeling arising in certain circumstances, and although his account of what this sentiment is, is extremely defective and inaccurate, yet it is the kind of account which he could not but give, supposing, as he did, that there was no principle on which it rested at all more rational than the mechanical principle of Custom or Habit. "All belief of matter of fact or real existence (says he) is derived merely from some object present to the memory or senses, and a customary conjunction between that and some other object; or, in other words, having found in many instances that any two kinds of objects, flame and heat, snow and cold, have always been conjoined together; if flame or snow be presented anew to the senses, the mind is carried by custom to expect heat or cold, and to believe that such a quality does exist, and will discover itself upon a nearer approach. This belief is the neces sary result of placing the mind in such circumstances. It is an operation of the soul when we are so situated as unavoidable as to feel the passion of love, when we receive benefits, or hatred when we meet with injuries." Mr Hume is here just upon the verge of the truth, but he has not hit it, and has exactly made the same blunder in metaphysics, which every one is prone to do in common life, and which it requires much meditation and religious thought to correct. Our minds have become so habituated to the order of things around us, that we forget that it is an order or system, and are but too ready to go on through life without any of the devout sentiments which so beneficent an arrangement ought constantly to inspire. Thus we have got the habit of believing without looking back to the foundation on which our belief rests, (Mr Hume mistakes the habit for the foundation,) and when we do not see that belief is invariably the same thing with faith, or opinion founded upon faith or trust in another Being, we naturally come to describe this sentiment in the singular way in which this philosopher has done, that it "is nothing but a more vivid, lively, forcible, firm, steady conception of an object, than what the imagination alone is ever able to attain." I believe Mr Hume's philosophy, amidst all its scepticism, is the best key which has yet been given to the human mind: it unlocks the outer courts of the temple-but the everlasting gates are not thrown open! Explain only the true nature of belief, and the foundation on which it obscurely rests even in the infant mind, --and the clouds of "sceptical doubts," and " sceptical solutions of these doubts," are at once dispelled, the veil is rent in twain, and the Holy of Holies itself is disclosed to the prostrate but grateful worshipper! PHILOTHEUS, PART II.-Additional Illustrations. SINCE we have come upon this view of the subject, (continued Philo,) which I confess has occupied much of my thoughts, it may perhaps afford you some entertainment, and may be a collateral proof of my argument, if I enter a little into a few metaphysical niceties which seem to be less apprehended than they might, in consequence of men overlooking this great foundation of all belief, the constant perception possessed by the human mind, that it moves within the sphere of design and intelligence. What, for instance, if we spend a few words on the famous question about the existence of the material world? In the name of Heaven, (said Cleanthes,) what can you propose by running into an inquiry so obscure, and which has brought some very profound metaphysicians into conclusions so remote from common apprehension? Perhaps, like Bishop Berkeley, you propose to deny the existence of matter, with a view of proving, in a more spiritual manner than is usually resorted to, the existence of God. The attempt, however, you must be well aware, is dangerous, for when first principles of belief are once unhinged, the steps by which we arrive at the existence of the divine mind soon vanish from our eyes. I have no intention (replied Philo) to be so sceptical as you imagine. I have no doubt of the existence of matter, but it is of some consequence, in a speculative view, (as agents, the inquiry need not be made,) to know what we mean when we say there is a material world. We mean, (said Cleanthes,) that the objects which we see and touch actually exist. What is the proof of their existence? (said Philo.) Certainly our senses, (replied Cleanthes.) Our senses (said Philo) only prove that we see and feel, but sense cannot assure us that there is any thing seen or felt. Perhaps, then, (said Cleanthes,) I cannot tell you how the belief comes, but we have it, and that is enough. But, (said Philo,) I think I see both whence it comes and what it is. All our perceptions of the external world are consistent, regular, systematic. They all convey, therefore, the impression of design, and our minds perceive this character in them as clearly as our senses are impressed with the perceptions themselves. It is from this character, in fact, that they derive the aspect and form of reality, and that we can distinguish them from dreams and imaginations. Were there nothing steady and consistent, nothing that bore the impress of order and plan in external nature; did it appear for a moment, and then vanish from our eyes: instead of being a system which assists and promotes our views and apprehensions, were it a constant source of delusion and uncertainty: were these its characters, I really do not think we could say it had any other existence than we are apt to ascribe to a troublesome dream, and at present it may have no other existence, than as the lofty language in which we are addressed by the Supreme Intelligence. Not far from Berkeley, however! (said Cleanthes.) I mean, (replied Philo,) that when we say we believe there is an external world, our meaning is, we have entire trust and confidence about it. Why? Because we see it is a system, and therefore involves a principle of mind upon which we can depend. In fact, the word belief means nothing else but the feeling of trust. Nobody will pretend to say what the material world is: of what kind of being or substance it consists: or that it is any thing more than a somewhat about which we have an assurance, and with a reference to which we act without any kind of distrust: which is more than can be said of dreams or reveries. I suspect, after all, this is the idea which Berkeley meant to express, but that he was rather incautious in his manner of stating it. He says often that he believes there is a material world, and that his belief does not differ from that which is commonly entertained. He cannot, indeed, separate the object perceived from the act of perception. I admit that we have an impression of these being distinct things, but I say we should not have this impression, unless our perceptions were of things orderly and consistent. The ordering and arranging of our perceptions, we are conscious, does not proceed from ourselves. It is clearly then the work of another mind. The existence, therefore, of a Supreme Mind, is constantly impressed upon us by the scene of external existence, and this, I maintain, is at least as certain an impression as that of the existence of external objects themselves, although my argument goes to prove that it is more certain, and that it is in consequence only of the regularity and consistency of the material world that any fixed impression remains with us of its actual existence. According to this view, therefore, we perceive that mind exists, before we have any steady belief of the existence of matter, and our belief of the existence of matter is little else but a sentiment of trust in that Mind by which it is ordered and arranged. I do not mean to say, Philo, (said Cleanthes,) that in these opinions there is no truth, but you do not seem to have made them out quite to your own satisfaction; and, therefore, I think you may as well come down to more level ground. My wish was to show, with Berkeley, (replied Philo,) that, properly speaking, there is no system of nature which can afford the slightest pretext for materialism. If he goes too far in saying, mind is the whole, I think I am justified in saying, that it is owing only to the order produced by Mind that we have any steady belief of the existence of such a thing as Matter. I willingly, however, leave this speculation, as I am ready to acknowledge to you that I have not quite satisfied myself respecting its solidity. There is another speculation, how ever, which amounts pretty nearly to the same thing, and which, I believe, may be made more level to our apprehension. Let our belief of the existence of matter come as it may; and if you will, let it rest upon its own foundation, and not upon any adventitious support from the concomitant perception of the existence of mind: still, I say, that matter cannot be presented to us, without bringing along with it the traces of design and in telligence. Do I rightly understand you? (said Cleanthes.) I admit, that an orderly world, such as we inhabit, bears the constant indications of design upon its countenance; but you surely do not mean to say that this is the case with matter considered abstractedly from the system into which we see it thrown. An orderly world (said Philo) is an evidence not merely of design, but of exquisite wisdom: but I wish to pursue materialism to the fountainhead, and to show that matter cannot exist in any form without bearing some indications of intelligence. Can matter exist without form? What is form but an order of existence, a mode of being suited to something, to the faculties, for instance, of a percipient? Matter imperceptible to every being can scarcely be said to exist. You cannot suppose an atom so fine, but you may conceive an eye capable of taking it in. Now, there must be a relation between the eye and the atom. This relation is something adapted, sorted, regulated, designed. Take the system of Epicurus: conceive innumerable atoms rushing through infinite space. No single atom can exist without some adaptation of parts, (if an atom has parts, if it has none it is nothing,) an adaptation which suits it better than any other. Whence did it get these? Is not intelligence apparent in the for mation of an atom as well as of a system? Then take different atoms in their corporate form, uniting together and making something, no matter what, something as rude as you will: whatever it is, there must be a principle of order in it, a coherency of parts, harmony of some kind or other: and you will find, if you examine these ideas, design and intelligence lurking at the bottom of them. Poets speak of a chaos, but, it is evident, that is a supposition merely poetical, or rather it is one which the human mind cannot make. It is a supposition of contradictions. Wherever there is matter at all, there must be order of some kind or other. It may seem to be order without any purpose, and so can scarcely be called design. order implies the operation of mind. Thus, you see, Pamphilus, that I find traces of intelligence not merely in the regular forms of crystallization, but in the most rude and inartificial of material bodies. Yet I have been so often disgusted (said I) with materialism, and have seen so much of it among the continental philosophers, that I am really not at |