does he represent himself, when he commenced the study of medicine; and it is interesting to inquire, how he acquired, in his short life, the envied eminence to which he attained.

One who knew him well, says,-" His eagerness in the pursuit of knowledge seemed like the impulse of gnawing hunger, and an unquenchable thirst, which neither disease nor adversity could allay." "His ambition and thirst for knowledge," says another, "were such, that having commenced an investigation, or a language, no difficulty could stop him; and what he had no time to accomplish in the day, he would do at night, instead of enjoying that rest of which he often stood in so much need."* It was thus by intense application and untiring industry, that he made himself what he was; and his biography speaks volumes in favor of the omnipotence of these. No error can be more fatal, than that learning can be acquired without them; unless it be that other error, which is nearly allied to it, that learning when acquired must be associated with ease and luxury. Let him, who in the pursuit of science would get along without toil and effort, or him who having received the honors of an institution would contemplate his education as finished, and settle down in the enjoyment of ease and luxury, think of Godman; and let such think, that the price he paid for his undying fame is that toil they affect to despise. And let them also remember one other fact, that amid all his multiplied pursuits, he found time to commence and carry through the most thorough investigation of the truth of the Christian revelation, and in his later years to attend to the duties and cultivate the virtues connected with the religion of Christ. Yes, Godman was a Christian. The error of which we have spoken often seems to have its origin in an excessive feeling of haste, on the part of the learner, to complete his education. All the means that can be devised to facilitate the onward course are brought into requisition; and as far as possible the pleasing is substituted for the useful, and the showy for the more solid. Nor does the feeling of the young girl, who is eager for her three months at a boarding school to close, that she may return home to be looked upon as a lady, differ from the feelings of the more advanced scholar, who eagerly looks forward to the time when his education shall be finished, and he shall go out into the world a learned man. This feeling of haste is encouraged by the book-making community: and to such an extent have mechanical facilities been introduced into our systems of education, that we can, with no small degree of propriety, speak of the mechanical character of this our boasted age. And to such self-styled improvements, the ignorance or the indifference of our teachers but too often gives a ready introduction; and thus our schools and institutions of learning are becoming flooded with but poor substitutes for industry and

common sense.

The practice of reading without reflection may well be introduced under this head. "Nothing," says an extensive and accomplished writer, (Stewart,) "has such a tendency to weaken, not only the powers of invention, but the intellectual powers in general, as this." Yet by how many is it practised? Forgetful of our maxim, that nothing valuable can be acquired without great effort, how many amuse themselves with the idea, that the time thus spent is usefully employ* These extracts are quoted from Dr. Thomas Sewall's eulogy on Dr. Godman.

ed, at the same time that they read merely from indolence. Others read from a curiosity to learn what an author says, without once inquiring whether what he says be true. By such reading nothing but the memory is called into exercise; the higher faculties of the mind fall into disuse, at the same time that the mind itself becomes unsettled in relation to every important sentiment or opinion. There are others still, who read in the same way, not so much from any personal curiosity, as for the want of moral courage. For, as has been well said, "It requires courage indeed to remain ignorant of those useless subjects which are generally valued." (Helvetius.) How necessary, however, such a courage is, to him who either loves the truth, or is in pursuit of an enduring fame, I need not say.

Another popular error is, that all education should have for its basis practical utility; by which is meant, that all the pursuits of the scholar should have a direct reference to this principle. Bringing the various objects of pursuit which call the attention of the scholar to this test, some reject from a course of study one thing and some another. And to such an extent has the principle been pushed, that scarcely a branch of learning remains, whether connected with science or literature, which has not been assailed by it. Some utterly reject all knowledge of the mathematics, except what is necessary to present those truths which are of actual service in the practical business of life; and even these truths may be learned, say they, without attending to the tedious demonstrations by which they are established.. Thus the study of the exact sciences is reduced to the simple process of committing to memory a few propositions which are susceptible of an application to the common concerns of life.

All the objections which are raised against the study of the sciences on the ground of practical inutility are based on an entire forgetfulness of one of the leading objects of education, that is, mental discipline. This, with the acquisition of useful knowledge, constitutes the education; and of the two must be considered far the most im portant. For with a mind well disciplined, a mind trained to close and accurate thought, practical knowledge to any extent may be readily acquired; but without this previous discipline, even knowledge itself, if possessed, would be of little avail. But no truth can be considered better established, than that application constitutes the only effectual discipline of the mind. For the purpose of mental discipline, then, if for no other, the foundations of science should be laid permanent and deep in the human mind.

Objections which rest on the same general principle are brought against the pursuit of the natural sciences; and we often hear the inquiry in relation to the collection of the botanist and the zoologist, as well as the cabinet of the mineralogist,-" What are they all worth?" And the mere pretender to learning often joins in the laugh, when the unproductive folly of the naturalist is the topic of conversation. Is it indeed, then, in vain that God has spread out his works before us? and is there no advantage derived from looking through nature up to nature's God? Suffice it to say, that God has implanted in the mind that becomes cultivated, a love for the study of his works; and has connected with this study a hidden charm, which he who feels, though he may pass a life of toil, and go down to his grave in poverty, unhonored and unsung, envies not the idle man his ease, the miser his stores, or the statesman his honors.

For their supposed practical inutility, almost every branch of polite learning also has been rejected from the list of useful study. In relation to language, history, rhetoric, and a few others, the question is settled; and few now think of objecting to them on this account. But poetry and music are of a more doubtful character. In relation to these, however, permit me to say, that they are the first lessons which man has ever learned from his Maker. Nature's children have always been poets, from the Hebrew of old, to the native inhabitant of our soil,-from the hyperborean snows of the Goths and Scythians, to the torrid zone, where wanders the African in his native glory. The praises of God have in all ages and in all climates gone up, associated with all that is inspiring in poetry and song; and many of the choicest portions of inspiration have been given in poetic numbers.

Painting and sculpture are but sister arts; and those only who have had the pleasure of looking on the master pieces of the first artists, are prepared to judge with any degree of correctness on the subject. If asked, in general terms, why I would have a taste for the fine arts cultivated, my answer should be, because we are so constituted by our Creator that these become to us sources of happiness. And it yet remains to be proved, that the pleasure derived from this source is less pure, than that which the man of the world derives from his industry, his titles, or his gold.

An error, the opposite of that to which we have alluded, has an existence at least in practice; and, the principle of utility has been lost sight of in some of our systems of education. This also has been pushed to strange extremes. On the one hand, mental discipline, without any regard to its practical application, has been consulted; and on the other, all reference to this has been lost, and external accomplishments have received the whole attention. In regard to its former application, I may be permitted to add to what I have already said on the subject, that there should be a proper blending of mental discipline with the acquisition of useful knowledge. The amount of attention, therefore, given to the abstruse sciences, should depend on the extent to which the education is to be carried. Thus the study of the calculus, or even of geometry, would not be thought as important to him who is simply preparing himself for a farm, as would be that of chemical and mechanical philosophy, and some of the other branches of natural science. In a limited course of study, then, the principal dependence for disciplining the mind, must be on the effort necessary to the acquisition of useful knowledge. In a full and complete course, however, the abstract sciences properly claim a high share of attention; nor should any one, who would acquire the power or habit of close consecutive thinking, think lightly of such a course.

In regard to the latter application of this erroneous principle, which attaches too much importance to mere external accomplishments, and in their glitter loses sight of the principle of utility, I may say, it has been principally confined to female education. Happily for the rising race, however, there are becoming more and more Cornelias in our country,-more and more, who consider their children as their jewels; and who prefer, that their daughters should compare with the diamond of the mine, rather than with the lily of the val

ley. But how many have we seen,-accomplished young ladies to be sure, of whom it might be said, that a genteel form, a graceful movement, and a store of romantic lore, accompanied perchance with a smattering of music and French, constitute the whole of their education. Yet perhaps years had been given to its acquisition. The object of female education in these cases seems to be lost sight of. The young lady is not always to remain that fantastic being she is at sixteen. Her education should be such as to fit her for other scenes, when she shall become, what indeed she should always be, the companion instead of the idol of her friends. In many cases education has accomplished this object; and not a few are found, who, when addressed as the mere creatures of feeling, the proper subjects of flattery, and as unable to enjoy even an intellectual repast, know well how to appreciate such a compliment to their intelligence.

Yet all is not as it should be. The standard of female education is not raised sufficiently high. How many there are yet, whose highest object is to acquire some of the more graceful accomplishments; and who value some trifling work of taste, or skill in the fine arts, higher than the literary gem, or a much more valuable treasure drawn from the mines of science. The object of a knowledge of the fine arts, or the lighter literature, is to add a polish to a more thorough intellectual education; and should be attended to, only to sweeten the toils connected with the acquisition of solid learning, or to give a healthful acuteness to the imagination and a perfection to the sentient powers, which the pursuit of the sciences had failed to yield. At the same time, then, that the principle of utility, as it has been defined, should not predominate, so as to swallow up every thing else, neither should it be lost sight of, in any system of education or department of learning.

Another grand practical error connected with education, very different in its nature from those I have noticed, arises from the supposition, that the mind is divided in its action into separate powers. Thus we often hear philosophy contrasted with feeling; and taste and imagination with judgment; and (to represent the subject more clearly) we have seen the will set in array with the passions, as if they sustained to each other only a relation like tribes or clans inhabiting the same district; and have had it presented to us, as one power of the mind engaged in a conflict with the other powers, and liable to have its acts even annulled by them. Thus the volitions are represented as the acts of but a part of the mind, instead of being as they are, the acts of the whole mind, in the exercise of that susceptibility, by which is exhibited the result of its own deliberations. Passing, however, this last erroneous application of the principle, which is here introduced only for illustration, the powers or faculties of the mind are often spoken of, not only as distinct and capable of independent action; but their acts are represented as incongruous the one with the other, so that the ability to perform one class of mental operations is made to preclude the power of performing others. This is the point we shall first examine. Here is opened a broad field of discussion; and I have only to regret, that I must delay but a few moments, where I might linger an hour. By way of introduction, let me inquire, where are found the power of philosophical research, and the deep-toned emotion,-the accurate taste,

and the powerful judgment?-where but in the mind? And what is the mind, but one undivided intelligence? I think it not difficult to be made to appear, that every mental act, of whatever character, is an act of the whole mind. If so, however great be the difference in the strength of different minds, the inference is strong, that that mind which is powerful to feel, is powerful to reason; and that the vigorous and well regulated imagination is never unassociated with the strong judgment.

In the examination of this subject, however, we will be particular. In common parlance, as we have suggested, strong thought is supposed to be inconsistent with deep feeling; and, on the contrary, a want of feeling is dignified by the name of philosophy. Judging from the frequency of such admissions, we might almost be led to consider it a moral axiom. It has been strongly expressed by one of our statesmen, (Ames' Essays-Equality, No. 1,) where he says, "A true philosopher is superior to humanity; he could walk at ease over this earth, if it were unpeopled; he could tread with all the pleasure of curiosity on its cinders, the day after the final conflagration." With this sentiment, the hypothesis I have just advanced is altogether at variance. I can indeed have an idea, that the conceit of the poet, (Campbell,) might be realized; that the last of our race, wrapped about with the sublimity of emotion, and lost in the consciousness of his own dignity and of his alliance with the Supreme, might tread on the fragments of the ruined world, and, as his eye caught the last lingering ray of the extinguished sun,

The dark'ning universe defy
To quench his immortality,

Or shake his trust in God.

But I cannot conceive, that it is the part of true philosophy to look upon human wo without emotion, to tread unmoved upon the ruins of time, or to gaze, as a disinterested spectator, upon the operation of any thing which concerns the welfare of our race.

But, to take a philosophical view of this subject, what is feeling? What, but an emotion arising from the perception of some object, or truth; and consequently, associated with some thought, or idea? If it be thus, then intense feeling, so far from being opposed to thinking, is but another name for intense thought; and that mind alone is powerful to feel, which is powerful to think,-powerful to reason. And if it indeed be thus, it is interesting to inquire, how a sentiment the opposite to this came to be so generally diffused. The argument, briefly stated, is this. The philosopher, he who really deserves the appellation, is seen to pursue whatever he purposes in his heart, with an inflexibility and decision which seem much more like the result of cool reason than of passion. Whatever conscience or reason dictates, he never shrinks from, whatever inducements indolence or passion suggest to turn him from his purpose. The warrior too, it is said, mingles in the strife of conflicting armies, issues his orders and sustains his broken troops, surrounded by the dead and dying, with a coolness utterly incompatible with the exercise of the tender emotions. Again we are referred to the orator, who, with "quiet dignity and unruffled self-possession," can sway at pleasure the feelings and judgment of his audience, bring into violent conflict all the excitable ingredients of human nature, VOL. VII-January, 1836.

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