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verse then, make its cause what you else but a manner of operation in nawill, still I read intelligence in it, and ture? of an order of things which this is sufficient to prove the exist- seems quite arbitrary, and might be ence of Deity.
the reverse of what it is without any The system of materialism, however, absurdity in the supposition? In init is evident, is a very low and earth- quiries into natural phenomena, ly system, and argues a great want of therefore, we never discover why they philosophical penetration. The slight- must exhibit such or such appearest attention to natural successions of ances; at least we never make an ulevents must convince us, that although timate discovery of that kind. We they are regular and constant, they may discover, that admitting such and are still quite arbitrary, and might be such previous appearances, others will conceived to be in every respect the follow of course, but the first admisreverse of what they are.
sions are entirely gratuitous, and have discover no necessity whatever, that no necessity in the nature of things. heat should be the consequence of Philosophy is nothing more than the fire, or cold of ice. Why should a science of the order of nature, and of round body in the Heavens called the the methods observed in its operaSun necessarily emit light and heat? tions. There is no more necessity in No investigation of philosophy, how- any thing which it discovers, than ever profound, can possibly discover there is that the sentence which I am any necessary connection between any now speaking should have followed two events in nature. Philosophy in that which went before it. the investigation of causes does no So far, then, (said Cleanthes,) you thing more than trace out those cir- agree with the sceptical opinion about cumstances in nature which invaria cause and effect, that there is no nebly precede others, and exhibits them cessary connection between them. divested of accidental circumstances
None (replied Philo) between those which may occur in particular in- things which are called causes and stances. When it has found out a effects in the system of nature. leading general fact, it then farther Where, then, do you find this relaexamines whether this fact, if sup- tion? (said Cleanthes.) posed to precede other facts, will ac I cannot well tell you (said he) count for them, by which is meant, where I find necessary connection, but will be the rule or measure of their I think I can easily point out to you appearances. Thus, it is discovered, a connection sufficiently strong to that a body falling to the ground in- build this relation upon. What say creases its velocity according to a de- you to the connection between voliterminate proportion as it approaches tion and its consequences ? I know the ground. This is a fact, but we the effocts of will are said to be arbican discover no sort of necessary con- trary as well as any thing else. ! nection between the body called a may will a thing this moment which stone, and this principle of gravity may not take place, although, perhaps, which regulates its descent. For any it would have taken place the moment thing we know to the contrary, the before. My hand may be suddenly stone might exist without the gravity. palsied, and may not follow my voliIf thrown into the air it might pro- tion when I determine to move it; ceed for ever upwards, or it might va- yet, whenever I do move my hand, in nish into smoke, or any thing might consequence of volition, I am conhappen to it as well as what does hap-, scious that the motion proceeded from pen. There may be some more gene- the will, and would not have been ral fact which may account for this without the will. The volition here principle, something, the previous was more than a precedent event, supposition of which will explain all was an event, without which, the other the operation of gravity ; but in the would not have been, and out of meantims, the discovery of this prin- which, if I may so speak, it was; and ciple is a very important one, since this is all that is meant by the word the notions of the heavenly bodies cause. agree exactly with the supposition of I cannot think, (said Cleanthes,) this being the law which regulates them. But is it not clear that this * See a short essay on Cause and Effect, discovery is the discovery of nothing in our Number for last December.
that, by this explanation, you account never a satisfactory account of any nasufficiently for the impression on our tural process, used in the discovery of minds, that every event must have a truth, to say we are carried to it by a cuse: You leave the connection too mere arbitrary association,—by the loose.
relations of resemblance or contiguity You will observe, (said Philo,) that in place or time,-or by the force of you cannot show me any event which custom in rivetting any particular does not occur in nature ; but there chain of ideas upon the mind. Imais a constant impression on the mind gination is the field in which associaof man that nature is a scheme; there- tions prevail,--not reason; and alfore, every event is part of the scheme: though babit may make imaginations a scheme or plan supposes a mind: appear reasonable, yet, I believe, every we cannot conceive a mind devoid of thing which nature gives that characvolition : every event, then, in na ter to, must rest upon a firmer basis. ture, is an effect of the volition of Let us then examine facts. What mind. If you could imagine a chaos, we have commonly experienced to which I believe to be an impossible take place, we expect will take place supposition, then you might also again ; and those events which are siimagine events,-changes to take place milar to others formerly experienced, without causes. It is the circum- or bearing upon other appearances in stance of design in nature which nature, we think much more probaproves that there is a real bond of ble than those which are entirely inconnection between cause and effect, – sulated and unlike anything else. that every change must have a cause, We constantly expect that fire will that is, must proceed from the voli- burn, and that the sun will rise every tion of mind. Materialism, then, is morning; and we think it more proaltogether built on a wrong applica- bable that the planets, like this earth, tion of words. Power means nothing have inhabitants, than that they are else but will accomplishing its end, vast bodies totally useless in creation. and we cannot conceive causation in- To resolve these views of the mind dependently of volition. The powers into the mechanical influence of cusof nature, and the necessary concate- tom, seems, as I say, very unsatisfacnation of natural causes and effects, tory. I do not see how custom should are mere words without meaning. be the ground of any opinion. From
I hope, Philo, (said Cleanthes) that the custom of seeing fire at all times you have now done with your meta- burn, and the sun rising every day, I physical niceties, as you call them; can conceive that the idea of fire for, to tell you the truth, I am getting should never occur to me without the a little wearied of them.
idea of burning, or of the sun withNay, Cleanthes, (said Philo,) this out the idea of its rising. But I do is scarcely fair,--you led me into the not see how the opinion should hence Jast speculation on cause and effect be generated that, as a fact, fire will yourself, and, in pity to my audience, always burn, and that the sun will I have been rather more hasty upon continue daily to rise. it, and have left more to be supplied If such an account of this process by their own reflections than was quite of mind be unsatisfactory, it seems to doing justice to my cause, and yet you me an unphilosophical one to ascribe are the first to complain of the effect. all these convictions of the underI will, however, put an end to these standing to particular instincts. There discussions, if you will permit me to seems a kind of reasoning in the opisay a few words on another point nions that the sun will rise to-morrow, which seemed to confuse our ideas a and that the planets are inhabited, little on the outset of our inquiry-I a sort of reusoning which is stronger mean on the grounds of all argument in the one case than in the other; and from Experience and Analogy. if any principle can be found which
I repeat, then, that the foundation will form a basis for all these reasonof this argument can never be custom ings from experience and analogy, it or a inere association of ideas: in seems much more philosophical to deed, I believe, every thing which rest them upon it, than to suppose bears the character of reason, has its different shades of instinct answering foundation in some original percep- to every yariety of opinion and beliet. tion of the understanding, and it is Now, to me appears that the early
impression of order and design in na design, as you call it, does not seem ture which the mind, I believe, is ori- quite infallible. I wish there were ginally prepared to receive, and which some force in the argument a priori, it cannot continue long in existence or that it were more level to my unwithout receiving, is that very prin- derstanding. ciple of which we are in search, and There is, in fact, no great need for from which all the different reason- it, (replied Philo.) Šlight indicaings of experience and analogy flow tions of design may not produce perwith the most natural precision. How fect assurance; but where they are soon do we perceive that the regular accumulated without all bounds or rising of the sun is a part of the plan measure, I see not that there can be of nature ! and with what firm de- room for a doubt. I have said, that pendance and assurance do we look even the atoms of Epicurus would for the daily appearance of that glo- suggest to the mind some notion of rious luminary! In like manner, intention ; how then can we hesitate whatever we see constantly happen, in the conclusion, where the object of and of which, too, we see the uses, our contemplation is a world? the purposes, the intention, that we The fact is, Pamphilus, that the expect will happen again. It is like immensity of the object somewhat looking at a clock. As it has shown embarrasses us. I cannot hesitate a the hours to-day, we reason that the moment in the belief that you are artist intended it should show the possessed of intelligence, because there hours to-morrow. When we have is here a rapid sympathy between us, not an opportunity of knowing facts, and I form a quick conception of the we then form probable conjectures. similarity between your mind and In different parts of the same plan, my own. But the Mind which I read probably the designer carries through in nature surpasses all my thoughts something of the same mind. This and apprehensions, and while I can is reasoning from Analogy, which may have no doubt of its existence, I am be more or less strong, according to lost in admiration and astonishment circumstances. Reasoning from known when I contemplate it. This kind of facts, again, we call reasoning from feeling, perhaps, sometimes re-acts Experience.
upon our perception of the evidence, But as I have tired you, Cleanthes, and produces a species of confusion and with these speculations, I will only uncertainty. Let us then, Pamphiremark farther,--that the proof of lus, contract the dimensions of this the existence of God must rest on a prodigious object. Let us suppose much firmer basis, than on any analo- the World to be a magnificent house, gical argument from a similarity in and that we have, from the first mothe works of nature to the works of ments of our recollection, been the man, if all argumerts from analogy inmates of a splendid palace. Let us rest on the previous supposition of a suppose that we have found the rooms plan or design in nature, which is, in sumptuously adorned, clothes profact, presupposing the existence of vided for us, beds in our apartments, God. It would be more philosophi, and every useful or elegant article of cal to suppose, that our belief of the furniture. At a certain hour of the existence of reason and intelligence in day a table is introduced by invisible other men is derived from an analogi- hands, supplied with every costly kind cal argument; because ourselves and of food. Lamps, suspended from the others are parts, and similar parts, of ceilings, burn with perpetual fire. one plan of nature, and, therefore, Every thing is conducted with the there, in fact, does lie an analogy same order, as if the master of the here, - although, I doubt not, our house were to appear, and the servants perception or knowledge of the exist- were visibly employed. Is it possible, ence of intelligence in each other is an on this supposition, that we should original perception of the human un- doubt there was a master of the house, derstanding,
some one who had prepared it for us, I am much gratified, Philo, (said I,) and who, unknown to us, superin. with the lights which you have thrown tended it? O Pamphilus, is not the upon this argument; yet I think World such a house, and can it be there is some degree of certainty still without a Master? wanting, and your manner of reading (To be continued.).
CONTINUATION OF REMARKS ON THE A whole long month of May in this sad POETRY OF KEATS.
Made their cheeks paler by the break of Lamia is the poem in which, in June : Mr Keats's second volume, the greatest fancy is displayed. It is more in
The brothers of Isabella discover the style of the Endymion, and we that their sister loves Lorenzo : they shall therefore forbear quoting from entice him to a forest, and murder it, excepting only three lines, which, and bury him: his ghost appears to for the imagination contained in them, Isabella, who seeks the body, and and the beauty with which they are cutting
off the head, buries it beneath executed, have seldom been equalled: a pot of Basil, which she waters with the poet is speaking of a palace built her tears. There are some terms in by the magic power of Lamia. this poem which Mr Keats inflicts a haunting music, sole perhaps and lone
upon the brothers of Isabella, which
we think in bad taste. He calls them Supportress of the faery-roof, made moan
money-bags, Throughout, as feurful the whole charm
ledger-men," might fade. p. 34.
which injures, in some respect, this
delightful story. Mr K. indeed, bim“ Isabella, or the Pot of Basil,” is self seems to have some doubts of this, a story from Boccaccio, and is the and in the following beautiful stanzas same as was given to the public some- intreats the forgiveness of his master. time ago by Mr Barry Cornwall, un, They are enough, to say the least, to der the title of " A Sicilian Storywipe away the sin committed. We can safely recommend “ Isabella" as eminently beautiful.
O eloquent and fam'd Boccaccio ! be eweeter than this? The days pass
of thee we now should ask forgiving
And of thy spicy myrtles as they blow, Vatil sweet Isabella's untouched cheek And of thy roses amorous of the moon, Fell sick within the rose's just domain, And of thy lilies, that do paler grow Pell thin as a young mother's, who doth Now they can no more hear thy ghit. seek
tern's tune, By every lull to cool her infant's pain. For venturing syllables that ill beseem
p. 51. The quiet glooms of such a piteous theme. The progress of the love of Loren
Grant thou a pardon here, and then the zo and Isabella is told in this delight tale ful manner.
Shall move on soberly, as it is meet ;
There is no other crime, no mad assail With every morn their love grew tenderer, With every eve deeper and tenderer still;
To make old prose in modern rhyme He might not in house, field, or garden But it is done succeed the verse or failstir,
To honour thee, and thy gone spirit greet; But her full shape would all his seeing To stead thee as a verse in English tongue, And his continual voice was pleasanter
An echo of thee in the north-wind sung. To her, than noise of trees or hidden rill ;
What a beautiful picture might not Her lute-string gave an echo of his name, Stothard make from the following exShe spoilt her half-done broidery with the quisite stanza? He knew whose gentle hand was at the And as he to the court. yard pass'd along, latch,
Each third step did he pause, and lis
ten'd oft Before the door had given her to his eyes; If he could hear his lady's matin-song, And from her chamber-window he would
Or the light whisper of her footstep soft; catch
And as he thus over his passion hung, Her beauty farther than the falcon spies;
He heard a laugh full musical aloft ; And constant as her vespers would he watch, When, looking up, he saw her features Because her face was turn'd to the same
bright skies ;
Smile through an in-door lattice, all deAnd with sick longing all the night out
light. p. 61. wear, To hear her morning-step upon the stair. Isabella, as we have said, buries the
head of the lover in the pot of Basil, "See our Number for last August. and weeps over it continually.
more sweet :
pp. 58, 59.
And she forgot the stars, the moon, and And twilight saints, and dim emblazon. san,
ings, And she forgot the blue above the trees, A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of And she forgot the dells where water run, queens and kings
And she forgot the chilly autumn breeze; She had no knowledge when the day was
Full on this casement shone the wintry done,
moon, And the new morn she saw not: but in
And threw warm gules on Madeline's
fair breast, peace
As down she knelt for heaven's grace and Hung over her sweet Basil evermore,
boon; And moisten'd it with tears unto the core.
Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together
And on her silver cross soft amethyst, The brothers, discovering at last
And on her hair a glory, like a saint: the cause of her grief, take the Basil
She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest, pot away: she having nothing then
Save wings, for heaven : - Porphyro left to console her, pines and dies.
She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from Piteous she look'd on dead and senseless mortal taint. things,
Anon his heart revives : her vespers Asking for her lost Basil amorously; And with melodious chuckle in the strings
done, Of her lorn voice, she oftentimes would
Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she
frees; cry After the Pilgrim in his wanderings,
Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one ; To ask him where her Basil was; and
Loosens her fragrant boddice; by dewhy
grees 'Twas hid from her : “ For cruel 'tis,"
Her rich attire creeps rustling to her said she,
knees : 46 To steal my Basil-pot away from me.”
Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed,
Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and And so she pined, and so she died forlorn,
sees, Imploring for her Basil to the last. In fancy, fair St Agnes in her bed, No heart was there in Florence but did But dares not look behind, or all the charm mourn
is fled. In pity of her love, so overcast. And a sad ditty of this story born
Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly
nest, From mouth to mouth through all the
In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she country pass'd : Still is the burthen sung—“O cruelly,
Until the poppied warmth of sleep opTo steal my Basil-pot away from me!"
Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued aThe “ Eve of St Agnes” consists way ; merely of one scene. Porphyro, a
Flowd, like a thought, until the morrow.
day; young cavalier, is in love with, and beloved by Madeline ; he enters her
Blissfully haven'd both from joy and
pain ; chamber on the eve of St Agnes, when
Clasp'd like a missal where swart Paynshe is dreaming of him under the supposed influence of the Saint. He per Blinded alike from sunshine and from suades her to fly with him. We have rain, only room for the following stanzas, As though a rose should shut, and be a which will speak for themselves suf
bud again. ficiently.
Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced, A casement high and triple-arch'd there Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, was,
And listen'd to her breathing, if it All garlanded with carven imagʻries
chanced Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of To wake into a slumberous tenderness; knot-grass,
Which when he heard, that minute did And diamonded with panes of quaint
he bless, device,
And breath'd himself: then from the Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes,
closet crept, As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, wings ;
And over the hush'd carpet, silent, stept, And in the midst, 'mong thousand he. And 'tween the curtains peep'd, where, lo! raldries,
how fast she slept pp. 95.97.