in philosophy and science, which, by enlarging and extending the province of the mind, have raised man in the scale of creation, and made him indeed a little lower than the angels. Without this feeling he would roam abroad through the world ignorant of “nature and nature's laws," and not seeking to know them; but with it he is ever busy and enquiring; he investigates, analyzes, and explores; traces effects up to their causes, penetrates into the arcana of the universe, and gives laws to the rolling planets. Without this, life would be to him a dreary and tiresome journey through scenes uninteresting and unattractive; but with it an agreeable charm is spread over all things, his soul is kept in a constant state of pleasing activity, and he finds a pure and beatific delight in contemplating the endless variety of objects that are ever presented to his view. It is under the influence of this feeling, modified of course, and directed as his mind advances by the superinduction of others, that he has sedulously applied himself to scientific pursuits, and trained up into a rich and beautiful luxuriance that tree of knowledge, which, to use an expression of Dr. Chalmers, "has spread its lovely efflorescence over the whole field of humanity."

"For such the bounteous providence of heaven,
In every breast implanting this desire

Of objects new and strange, to urge us on

With unremitted labour to pursue

Those sacred stores that wait the ripening soul

In Truth's exhaustless bosom."

The discovery or the knowledge of these "sacred stores," is what is generally meant by the term philosophy. The invention of the term (the simple word oopía, or wisdom, being previously used) is due to the modesty of Pythagoras. The occasion on which he introduced the change is thus related by Cicero:

"It happened while Pythagoras was at Phlius, that the chief of the Phliasians was exceedingly charmed with the ingenuity and eloquence with which he discoursed upon various topics, and asked him in what art he principally excelled? To which Pythagoras replied, he did not profess himself master of any art, but that he was a philosopher. Leon, struck with the novelty of the term, asked him what was a philosopher, and wherein they differed from other men? Pythagoras replied, that as, in the public gains, some are contending for glory, while others are buying and selling in pursuit of gain, there is always a third class who attended merely as spectators; so in human life, amidst the various characters of men there is a select number who, despising all other pursuits, assiduously apply themselves to the study of nature, and the research after wisdom; these,' added Pythagoras, 'are what I call philosophers.""

The term has since been universally adopted; and though its etymological meaning might seem to be sufficiently plain, yet both ancient and modern writers have taken pains to define it. Cicero defines it, "Scientia rerum divinarum et humanarum cum causis.” Bacon, "interpretatio naturæ," and a later writer in our own vernacular tongue, and perhaps with still more correctness," that love of

wisdom which urges men to enquire into the nature of things, and stimulates them in the pursuit of all important and useful science."

There is not perhaps much real difference in any of these. In all of them the wide domain of Nature is taken to be the great theatre on which philosophy has to act. And viewing it in this, the true sense, how vast and boundless is the field of its operations! “ πολυς νομος evda kaι evda.” How great and limitless is the expanse! With what an exhaustless affluence of treasures does it abound! How many rich mines lie beneath its surface, into which no shaft has ever yet been sunk! The great Newton himself, the interpreter of the universe, modestly said that he was only picking up a few shells by the great ocean of truth. And notwithstanding his amazing industry and unrivalled success, how many rare and beautiful ones remain yet to be gathered! Every successive roll of that mighty deep is tossing up fresh heaps upon the strand. Upheaved from the crystal caves and coral depths in which they were imbedded, they lie scattered in magnificent profusion around. Let not rash and ignorant presumption, however, hope to gather them. Shrouded in their own mystic beauty, they lie deeply concealed from the idle gaze of the careless and casual observer. It is only to those who seek them carefully, diligently, and devotedly, that this loveliness is unveiled.

It is a strange fact that so little advances were made by the ancients in sound practical knowledge. Of them it might indeed be said, that though there was much philosophy amongst them, yet there was little wisdom. With all their lectures, and precepts, and eloquence, more useful discoveries have been made in the period that has elapsed since the revival of letters in the latter end of the thirteenth century, than in the whole space of time antecedent. The art of printing, the use of gunpowder, the mariner's compass, the telescope, the barometer, and all sorts of useful manufactures by which the comforts of society have been substantially advanced, have been invented since. Improvements of all kinds have been advancing with a rapidity almost miraculous. It seemed as if the human mind, starting from the deep slumber of the middle ages, had sprang forth upon a new and glorious career with all its energies more vigorous and valiant than ever. And with giant's strides has it continued to advance, breaking down every barrier that seemed threatening to oppose it. Having shaken off the iron yoke of barbarism, it has pushed forward its facul ties with all the fresh vigour of a juvenile freedom. And yet how great must have been its exertions in emerging from the state of deep and degraded ignorance in which it was sunk. How thick were the shades that then hung upon the world. "Clouds on clouds of darkness," says the elegant historian of the Roman empire, successively rose in the sky, till the congregated host, gathering fresh terror as it rolled along, obscured the sun of Italy and sunk the western world in night." And yet, though the surly and tempestuous storms from the north had thus

"Blasted the Italian shore, and swept the works
Of liberty and wisdom down the gulf

Of all-devouring Night,"

yet a fresh light dawned upon. the horizon, and the arts and sci ences sprang up again beneath its cheering and renovating influence. And ever since have they continued to bloom and flourish with a loveliness and richness of vegetation unknown in all the ancient days of philosophy and science.

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How comes it, then, that the ancient times were so barren of all useful knowledge? How comes it that the Platos and Socrateses, and Aristotles have done so little profitably to enlighten mankind? The plain reason is, that they devoted themselves too much to speculative theories. They never contemplated the truth of that celebrated maxim of Bacon, the foundation of all his philosophy, that "knowledge is power." They loved rather to luxuriate amidst the profound abstractions of an idealess metaphysics, than to acquire that knowledge of things, or as Bacon calls it, that "power over matter," by which the happiness of mankind would have been really and effectively promoted. If they gave themselves up devotedly to study, it was more that they might be abstruse reasoners, or subtle dialecticians, than propounders of useful and important truths. They loved the operations of mind for its own sake, rather than with a view any direct practical results. If they looked into the blue depths of heaven, and endeavoured to trace the paths of worlds throughout the immensities of space, it was more for the moral beauty of such discoveries, for the refined pleasure of such abstract intellection, than with a hope, or perhaps even a desire that a knowledge of such things would ever enable man to steer his way over the vast solitude of oceans, and visit and revisit the most distant countries on our globe. They were, in fact, to a certain degree isolated from their fellow men. They looked down with a lofty pride upon the vulgar pursuits of ordinary life. Wrapt up in their own sublime musings, they kept their eyes steadily fixed upon a visionary moral optimism, and they rather endeavoured to paint in vivid colours the beauty of this object, than to lead men to it, even supposing it to be attainable. Hence, while they wandered in imagination through the beautiful and enchanting vales of this philosophical Elysium-while the porch and the academy echoed to the strains of heavenly eloquence* in which their moral precepts were delivered-they added little to the substantial happiness of mankind. So that Democritus seems not to have been much mistaken when he said that the knowledge of nature lay hid in certain deep mines and caves.

And yet, with all their imperfections, what a charm is hanging about the scenes in which those great and illustrious men taught. Who can think, without emotion, of

"Fair Lyceum's walk, the green retreats
Of Academus, and the thymy vale
Where, oft enchanted with Socratic sounds,
Ilissus pure devolved his tuneful streams
In gentler murmurs ?"

So pure was the eloquence of Plato, that it was said, if the gods came down from heaven to dwell among men, they would adopt his style.

Such scenes are the venerated haunts of a thousand and a thousand

sublime and holy associations. The mind loves to linger amongst

them. There is a trail of heavenly light about them that both warms and enchants the imagination. What, though practical science made little advances amongst them, yet was not their philosophy beautiful -that philosophy which one of their teachers was said to have brought from the tenth heaven, and whose precepts even at this day continue to attract the admiration of the world? Greece-the spring of every classic recollection-the haunt of every thing noble and lofty in intellect-the nurse of genius and heroic enterprise-" the warrior's dwelling and the Muses' seat;"-that lovely Tempe which poesy and philosophy seem at one time to have selected for their favourite abode;-alas, though now thy glory is gone, thine ancient lustre faded, thy columns mouldering, and thy mightiness defaced, yet thou art still a watchword to the nations, the trump of Fame shall sound thy glory to the most distant age, and

"Still shall Memory, with reverted eye,

Trace thy past worth, and view thee with a sigh."

The memory of thy greatness and thy glory never shall depart. Like the fabled light of the Rosicrusian's ever-burning lamp, an undying halo is hanging around thee, illumining the darkness of the grave.

"Who does not see with an admiring eye
How Plato thought, how Socrates could die?"

Human learning has generally been divided into three branches, corresponding to three faculties or powers of the mind,-history, poetry, and philosophy; history referring to memory, poetry to imagination, and philosophy to reason. This division has been objected to by Professor Stewart, and indeed justly, for it will at once be seen that the parts are not sufficiently distinct, inasmuch as the exercise of the reasoning faculty, to which, in the division philosophy has been peculiarly asigned, is essentially necessary both in history and poetry. And therefore philosophy in its general sense can hardly be separated from the others. And indeed it is quite common to hear of the philosophy of history and the philosophy of poetry. History, properly so called, is certainly a mere register of the events of former times in the order and succession in which they have occurred; and so far as the mind merely takes cognizance of them, without either comparing them with each other, or tracing them to their causes, or deducing principles from them, so far memory is plainly the only faculty that is made use of; and a man with a perfect memory and but little reasoning power, might thus be a complete and perfect historian. But is this the use that is to be made of history? Is history to be merely a bare register of events, a barren catalogue of all the great personages that from time to time have appeared on the vast theatre of the world, with an account of the different parts which they have severally performed? Surely not: surely history is destined for other purposes. In history a vast volume is unrolled for the instruction of mankind. It is the legacy which former ages have

left to us their posterity, and which we are to hand down with additions to generations yet unborn. History connects the present time with a portion of the eternity that is past; it affords us a firm footing, as we walk across the dark abyss of ages, and live in the midst of scenes over which centuries have rolled. In history we read of the tumults, disorders, and revolutions that have been brought upon the world by pride, lust, ambition, avarice, revenge; we read of the actions of man in all the various characters and situations in which he has been placed; we see, as in a moral map, a full and fair and accurate delineation of all the passions of the human heart, and of all the good and evil with which the exercise of those passions has been attended, and our duty is plainly not to read those events as we would the adventures of Jack the Giant-killer, or Robinson Crusoe; but to trace, and examine, and investigate, and compare the different events recorded, and, by the due exercise of reason, to draw from this vast moral magazine, lessons for the future regulation of our conduct. Thus history without philosophy would be a mere dry skeleton, without either the principles of life or the elements of beauty; or it would resemble those leafless trees which are to be seen in winter, admirable for the minute ramification of their branches, but destitute of that fresh green luxury of foliage which is so necessary for their perfection.

Again, in poetry how necessary is philosophy! But we must defer this till our next number.

SONG.

I NEVER doubted of thy love,-thy love was all to me;
I thought it was as fond and true as that I felt for thee;
And ever will I think it was, although it did not last ;-
The present is but nought to me,-I live upon the past.

I still can hear thy fervent vow, and see thy trembling tear ;
My yielding heart is still the same, and thou art e'en more dear.
A treasure lost is valued more than when secure in sight,
And thy lost love is dearer now than ere it took its flight.

Thy fickle heart can never know the pangs for thee I feel,-
A woman's faithful breast alone the secret can reveal.
I loved thee, and must ever love thee only, only thee;
Thy first fond smile is on my heart, and there will ever be !

R. S.