such pleasure is derived, would become objects of terror and gross superstition, while they are now viewed in the light of evidences of wisdom; and when we study them, familiar with the researches of the philosopher, we rise above the lower and baser feelings, and the heart is filled with high and pure aspirations. Were it not for the researches in moral philosophy, who could paint the scenes with which the earth would be filled? All the better feelings would be lost amid the universal wreck of mind, and we, instead of being the elevated beings we now are, would be but fit companions of those savages, into whose minds the light of science has never penetrated. Where would be the sublimity of poetry, what noble parts would it contain, were it not for philosophy? The few sublime rays it does contain, are like the fragments of the diamond, which, though pretty in themselves, yet lack the beauty of the gem itself, unbroken and unsoiled. The poet may aptly be compared to the philosopher, as the shadow to the man. The shadow gives a faint outline of man so is it with the poet; in the meditations of his muse he gives an inkling of philosophy, touches the surface, but the vastness, the grandeur of the original is wanting.

The gentleman has labored hard, but, it appears to me, in a very unsatisfactory manner, to show that the pursuits of the poet are more elevated than those of the philosopher; for the reason, that poetry has diffused throughout the world more happiness than philosophy. On this he has rested his main argument, which, it will readily be seen, is not a very strong one. On what does our happiness here depend? On our relations to society, on the comforts we enjoy, and the condition of the mind itself. "One of the subordinate uses of natural philosophy," says Dick, "is to enable us to construct all those mechanical engines that facilitate human labor, increase the comforts of mankind, and tend to enlarge our views of the operations of nature.” There we see it the chief instrument of our happiness. "A still higher use to which it is subservient," he continues, "is to demonstrate the wisdom and intelligence of the Great First Cause of all things; to enlarge our conceptions of the admirable contrivance and design which appear in the different departments of universal nature. In this view, it may be considered as forming a branch of natural theology, or, in other words, a branch of the religion of angels, and of all other holy intelligences." The science of natural philosophy, of which mechanics is but a branch, has

enabled man to accomplish operations, far beyond the limits of his own physical powers. Without a knowledge of this science, the enjoyments of man, and consequently, his happiness as a social being, would be extremely limited.

"In the savage state, ignorant of agriculture, manufactures, and navigation, and the other arts that depend upon this science, he is exposed, without shelter from the inclemencies of the seasons; he is unable to transport himself beyond oceans, and visit other climes and tribes of his fellow men." He exists in the desert, comfortless and unimproved; the fertile soil, over which he roams, is covered with thorns, briars, and thickets, for the haunts of beasts of prey. His enjoyments are little superior to those of the beasts, while he is much their inferior in point of agility and physical strength. But, when philosophy has demonstrated the principles of mechanics, and introduced the practice of the useful arts, the wilderness and the solitary places are made glad, and the desert rejoices and blossoms as the rose ;" cities are built, and the comforts of life are rapidly spread around; and "man advances with pleasure and improvement, to the scene of his high destination." The philosopher penetrates deeper and farther than the poet; and consequently, has greater sources from which to derive

those sentiments that dignify and elevate the man. The philosopher, or "the man who takes an enlightened view of all the works and dispensations of God, and of all the circumstances and relations of subordinate beings, necessarily acquires a nobleness and liberality of mind, and an accuracy in judging of things human and divine, which no other person can possess.' The very nature of the philosopher's pursuit, being more extended, and including the noblest of creations, enables him to acquire grander views, and more elevated ideas; from the very fact, that his knowledge is more extensive. The poet does not search deeply into natural history, into the nature of man, or any other branch of knowledge; his purpose can be accomplished without so doing. He, like the humming bird, skips from flower to flower, culling the sweets that lie on the surface; but, the richer food, that lies hidden beneath, escapes untouched by him. But the philosopher not only enjoys the external beauties; for him also is reserved the deeper treasures escaped unheeded by the poet. While the form of man, and his animal powers, apparent to the eye, and the visible effects of the mind, engross the attention of the poet; not only these, but the nature of that mind, the breath of life, and his construction, so wonderful, are the philosopher's study.

That, undoubtedly, which is wonderful, grand, noble, beautiful, has the tendency to excite in the mind high thoughts and noble ideas. Then, how elevating, how noble the study of man! The study of that being, who was made but a little lower than the angels! The study, not only of his mental powers, but their adaptation to the matter that constitutes his figure! What object calculated to induce higher strains of thought, than that delicate piece of mechanism, the eye? Man cannot so much as form one of the least of the particles of which it is constructed; how much less impart to it the light that conveys the glance of love and friendship! what higher contemplation, than the immense systems of the universe, as revealed to us by the philosopher? It is such as these form his study, where, at every step, are revealed evidences of wisdom. While we may read the brighest effusions of the poet with comparative indifference, and no emotion, we cannot contemplate the vast, boundless field of the philosopher, understandingly, without feelings of the utmost awe and

veneration.

Or,

He has laid great stress upon, and endeavored to show, that poetry is equally as elevating as philosophy, from the reason, as he gives it, that poetry is so intermingled with philosophy, that