ings of relation is equally true of our conceptions, or other internal affections of the mind, as of our affections of sense; though, from the greater permanence of our perceptions when external objects are before us, they may naturally be supposed to give rise to a wider variety of such feelings of relation. In conformity with our original view of the objects of physical inquiry, the variety of relations may be classed as Relations of Co-existence or Relations of Succession; according as, in the former case, they do not involve any notion of time, or as, in the lat. ter case, they involve necessarily the notion which is expressed, in its double reference, by the words Before and After. I. The Relations of Co-existence may be reduced under the following heads; Position,-Resemblance or Difference,-Proportion,-Degree,-Comprehensiveness, or the relation which a whole bears to the parts that are contained in it. When we say of a cottage, that it stands on the slope of a hill; that it is very like the cottage beside it, but very unlike one that stands in the valley; that its large sashed windows are out of proportion to the size of so diminutive a building;-that it is therefore less beautiful with all its gaudy profusion of flowers, than the cottage in the valley, with its simple lattices, which seem to sparkle more brightly through the honeysuckle that is allowed to wreathe itself to their very edge;—and when, describing the interior of it also, we say, that it contains only three small chambers, in these few simple references, we have illustrated the whole possible variety of the Relations of Co-existence; which may be induced indeed by various objects, with various specific differences, but which, generically, must always be the same with these. Indeed, by an effort of subtlety, more violent perhaps than the phenomena warrant, it might be possible to reduce still more even this small number, and to bring, or force, the relations of proportion and degree under the more comprehensive relation of a whole and its various parts. But at least the number under which I have arranged them, as it appears to me to be in its order of distribution very easily intelligible, scems to me also sufficient for exhausting the whole phenomena, for which it was ne cessary to find a place and a name. We look on two cottages:-we are not merely impressed with all their sensible qualities, with which each separately, in perception, might have affected us exactly in the same manner as when we perceive them together; but we consider them relatively to each other or to other surrounding things. We think of them, therefore, in connexion with the place on which they stand; and we are impressed with their general resemblance or difference, with their various proportions, with their comparative degrees of beauty or convenience or other qualities, and with their comprehensiveness with regard to the number of parts which they respectively contain. The suggestion or instant sequence of any one of these feelings of relation, after the joint perception of the two objects, seems as little mysterious as the mere perception of the objects after the necessary previous organic change, or as any other sequence of feelings whatever: and if nothing had ever been written on the subject, the subject itself, as far as regards the mere simple feeling of relation in any particular suggestion, would scarcely seem to stand in need of any elucidation. The dispute concerning the nature of general ideas (or what is present to the mind as the subject of abstract reasoning) is next treated of. Dr Brown thinks that, in reasoning concerning a species, there is certainly present to the mind a conception of those qualities in which the individuals of the species correspond. He says, "II. When a resemblance is felt in some of the obvious qualities of external sense, as when we look on a portrait or pictured landscape, and think of the person or the scene that was meant to be represented by it ;-no difficulty is felt by any one, in considering the relation. A portrait, or a landscape, involves no technical word of mystery; and the simple process of nature, therefore, in which feelings of resemblance arise in the mind after certain perceptions or conceptions, is all of which we think. But when we are called by philosophers to consider the circumstances on which classification is founded; though all that truly takes place in this process as essential to it, is a feeling of resemblance of object to object, less extensive indeed as to the number of similar circumstances than in a portrait or landscape, but still exactly of the same kind, when considered as a mere feeling or mental state; we seem immediately to see a thousand difficulties, because a thousand words of terrible sound start instantly on our conception. Yet when, on looking successively at a square, an oblong, a rhombus and a rhomboid, we class them all verbally as four-sided figures, we make as simple and as intelligible an affirmation, in stating the similarity of these figures in one common circumstance, as when we say of any portrait in our chamber that it is like the friend for whom it was painted. The two affirmations express nothing more than a feeling of resemblance in certain respects; and, if we had never heard of the controversy in the Schools as to the nature of Universals, we should as little have suspected of the one affirmation as of the other, that it could give occasion to any fierce logical warfare. Still less could we have suspected, that philosophers who do not deny that we are capable of feeling the resemblance of a piece of coloured canvass to the living person whom it represents, are yet unwilling to allow that we feel the slightest general resemblance of a square, an oblong, a rhombus and a rhomboid; and insist accordingly, that when we class these figures as four-sided, it is not because we have any common feeling of their similarity, or any intervening feeling or notion whatever, distinct from the perception of the separate figures, but because it is our arbitrary plea sure so to give the name. The philosophers, to whose fundamental opinion on the subject of generalization I at present allude, are those who have been commonly distinguished by the title of Nominalists and it is indeed a very striking proof of the darkening effect of a long technical controversy, that an error which appears to me, I confess, notwithstanding my high respect for the talents of those who have maintained it, a very gross one, should yet have united in its support, with the exception of a very few names, the genius of the most eminent metaphysicians of our own and other countries. The essence of this theory of generalization is, that we have no general notions, or general feelings of any kind, which lead us to class certain objects with certain other objects, that there is nothing general but the mere names, or other symbols, which we employ, and that in all the ascending gradation, therefore, of Species, Genus, Order, and Class, the arrangement is constituted, as truly as it is defined by the mere word that expresses it, without any relative feeling of the mind as to any common cir cumstances of resemblance intermediate between the primary perception of the separate objects, and the verbal designation that ranks them together. He justly argues, that before arranging objects into a class, or species, we must first have had a previous feeling of their agreement in some particular, which rendered them fit to be classed together; and that the conception of this quality common to them, with the conviction, that it is to be found in each of them, is all that is necessary to constitute our general idea of the class. Yet, in different cases, there are very great differences, with regard to the fitness of the common quality, to be conceived distinctly by itself. In some cases, one definite conception can represent the common quality, and can be applied successively to the whole individuals of the species without suffering much change or modification. As, for instance, when we say." all flowers with four white leaves," the conception of four white leaves may continue present to the mind during all our reasoning con cerning the species. But in other cases, the common quality is, perhaps, be represented by a one definite and some shifting relation, which cannot Permanent conception, kept steadily in view: As, for instance, when we say, "all numbers below seventy," the common quality here, is a proportion which seems to be only represented by the words; and of which no permanent or distinct conception can be formed, as it is different in each case. Probably, in abstract reasoning, the mind resorts to a great many shifts, and performs its operations in a very irregular manner. It retains a clear conception of the common quality, so long as it can. When it is no longer possible to do so, it probably lays hold of some subordinate circumstance in relation to it, which can be kept permanently in view: As, for instance, in speaking abstractly of the minor proposition of a syllogism, we may sometimes be contented to consider it as merely something holding an intermediate place between the major and the conclusion, which again may be considered as only the first and last propositions in the series, when we have not before us any particular syllogism, or minor proposition. And, probably, our last resort is really to mere nominalism; keeping the mind ready, however, for immediately flying to the common quality when par ticulars are presented to us. As we have mentioned above, the part of the work which relates to the Emotions remains unpublished, a circumstance which will create disappointment for the present, although the defect may perhaps be afterwards supplied from Dr Brown's papers. The present volume, even in its unfinished state, is considerably larger than that abstract which was published of Professor Stewart's Lectures, for a similar purpose. There is nothing in it left obscure for the sake of brevity, (whatever might have been the interest of more copious illustra tions) and it is not yet known whether there is an intention of publishing Dr Brown's Lectures in a more ample and perfect form. Perhaps the completion of the present volume would be the best step, in the mean time. STANZAS, WRITTEN UPON ROBERT, THE SON OF CAPTAIN S. SHAW, OF THE ROYAL ARTILLERY, NOW A RESIDENT IN THE EAST INDIES-A CHILD FIVE YEARS OF AGE. 1. By JAMES CROSSLEY, ESQ. A WITCHING child, to whom 'tis given Pure, as if earth, and earth's despising, With innocence and archness dawning- A lip where heav'n itself might breathe- 2. Born, where the giant Ganges pours And but the gentlest, kiss its sweetness: May o'er that flower some Sylph of Air With more than parent's fondness hover; Hang o'er its sweets with watchful care, And all its budding charms discover- And sure that forehead, white as snow, That eye where Eden's self is seen- Tho' Sorrow's lot is borne by each, And Man's sad cup on earth is care, And bold is he who Pain will teach, To torture these, and those to spare, Yet some should sure be left Mankind, The solace of their woes behind, To gild this Lazar House with beams That emanate from Light's pure streams, On life to throw one transient ray, And give its night the blaze of day; Some, some there are, to whom their weak ness Itself, should strong protection yield, Whom Innocence, and Angel Meekness, Should cover as a seven-fold shield. The great, unmourn'd, may fall or die, But such shall have our sympathy. When tempest's force, or lightning's stroke, Cleaves from its base the lofty oak, Unmov'd we see the mighty bound That throws its greatness to the ground; But who can see, and see unheeding, The rose, but op'ning, fade away, The mildew on its beauties feeding, And blights corrode its sweets away?— Or who can see, with eyes unwet, Uptorn the lovely violet? 5. Such, oh! may such be ne'er thy fate; Of joy the giver and partaker, An angel made, and angel maker,— Its magic whispers come and go, Lists to its notes, as sweet they play, And hears his grosser parts away. 6. 'Tis sweet to pause as on we creep, Hakon Jarl, a Tragedy; by Adam Oehlenschlager. We are about to introduce to the acquaintance of our readers, a great poet of Denmark, whose compositions, in his native language, have rendered him the chief living pride of his own country; while his German versions of these same compositions have entitled him, according to the judgment of his most enlightened contemporaries, to sit with the full privileges of an honoured denizen among the heirs and representatives of the illustrious founders of the modern poetry of Germany. The most severe of German critics are constrained to admit, that Oehlenschlager writes the language of Schiller as correctly, as if its accents had been the earliest that ever fell on his ear so that we might very safely have considered him in the light of a proper German classic, and proceeded to analyze his works in part of the same series which has already made known to the readers of England the merits of Adolphus Müllner, and Francis Grillparzer. But every man of genius owes to his own country the sacred debt of cultivating, preserving, and cherishing her language; and as Oehlenschlager has, in spite of many temptations, adhered through life to this rule of duty, we should think ourselves very much to blame were we to treat him merely as a German poet, The literature of which he is the chief living ornament, is indeed closely allied to that of Germany; but it has been developed, notwithstanding, in a manner perfectly independent. It is as different from the literature of Germany as the literature of Germany is from that of England-cr as the literature of Portugal is from that of Castille. Acting upon the same general principle of art, which has swayed the greatest of the German masters in their most suc cessful efforts, the Danes have, in consequence of this very adherence, become poets of a totally different order from the Germans. Like them, they are intensely national—and that single circumstance points out abundantly both the nature of the resemblance they bear to them, and the wide measure of the difference which obtains between them. Drawing their imagery from the kindred, but far purer sources of Scandinavian mythology and romance and applying these, and all the other instruments of their art, to the illustrations of the history, the manners, and the old life of a kindred also, but nevertheless a very different people, the poets who sing of the downfall of Odin, and the rearing of the Cross among the rough Earls of the Baltic shores, are in no danger of being confounded, by such as have studied their works, with those that record the proud visions of Wallenstein, and the mild generosity of Eg mont. Of all the modern Danish Poets, Oehlenschlager is the most deeply and essentially imbued with this prevailing spirit of Scandinavian thought. Almost all the tragedies he has written and all his excellent tragedies, with the one splendid exception of the Coneggio-are founded on incidents of the old history of the Norsemen. The wild unbridled spirits of those haughty Sea-kings that carried ravage and terror upon all the coasts of Europe-the high, warm, unswerving love of those northern dames that welcomed them on their return to their native ice-girt fastnesses-the dark ferocious superstitions which made these bold men the willing sport and tools of demons-their sacrifices of blood-their uprootings of tenderness -their solemn and rejoicing submission when fate irresistible arrests them in their buoyant and triumphant breath of strife—their hot impetuous lawless living-their cold calm dying-and their desperate ignorance of the name of despair-such are the characters and such the passions that Oehlenschlager has delighted to contemplate as an antiquarian, and dared to depict as a Tragedian. The materials are rich surely-but it demanded all the audacity of genius to grapple with them and all the delicacies of perfect skill to adorn the victory and justify the boldness. The history of Earl Hakon, well known to all those who have read the Scandinavian ballads, forms the subject of, we think, the noblest of all this poet's tragedies. Olaf, the son of Harald the golden-haired, the rightful heir of the crown of Norway, was left by his father in possession of his Irish conquests, and there maintained in his youth the state of a pirate king-but all his Scandinavian possessions, except only the royal title, were usurped in his infancy by Earl Hakon. The young king, however, in the course of one of his expeditions, landed on one of the green islands off the Norwegian coast, and his arrival there was no sooner known, than a strong party in Norway, disgusted with the tyrannies and the licentiousness of the usurper, began to proclaim their sense of his rights, and their determination to throw off their allegiance to Hakon. The Christian faith of Olaf, however, (for the young prince had been converted at Dublin) gives Hakon confidence he is persuaded that Odin will protect him, and that the mass of his subjects will not receive as their monarch an apostate from the creed of their forefathers. The first scene we shall extract represents Hakon as talking in a holy grove of pines, with Thorer, one of his chief captains, concerning the arrival of the Christian prince. Hak. We are alone. Within this sacred wood Dares no one come but Odin's priests and Tho. Such confidence, my lord, makes Hak. So, Thorer, thou believ'st all that to-day Was told of Olaf Trygvason at table, Till that hour was unknown to me? Hak. Thou art a man even after mine own heart! For such a friend oft had I long'd.-With prudence And if obstructions unforeseen arise, And as thy wisdom is exerted, still Tho. The gods endow us With souls and bodies-Each must bear their part. Hak. Man soon discovers that to which He has been destin'd. His own impulses by nature Awake the slumbering energies of mind; Thence he attains what he feels power to reach; Nor for his actions other ground requires. Tho. It is most true. |