tion the carefulness of his observations or the accuracy of his statements. He, indeed, is apt to vent a little extravagant eloquence on the ravishing features of a beetle, and to fall into ecstasies of admiration at the beauties of a butterfly. But this is altogether in his line; and if he were not as demonstrative on a grub as a Goethe, on a caterpillar as a Comte, Mr. G. H. Lewes would be Mr. G. H. Lewes no longer. Let him, then, tell his own story in his own way, nor quarrel with his curious illustrations of animal life, because the element of gravity was omitted in his composition, and its place supplied by a double share of assurance and flip

He was the only man, not an artist, whom Mr. Leslie had ever known, that felt the beauties of art like an artist. He was too quiet to exercise his due influence among the patrons of art; but his own patronage, as far as it extended, was most useful. He took a decided part in favor of Turner, Flaxman, and Stothard, when they were little appreciated by their countrymen. His superior judgment in art is shown by the fact that there was nothing in his home that was not valuable. "Those who know Rogers," says Mr. Leslie, "only from his writings, can have no conception of his humor. I have seen him, in his old age, imitate the style of dancing of a very great lady with an exactness that made it much more lu-pancy. dicrous than any caricature; and I remember, when In the first chapter of this volume the author I met him at Cassiobury, that he made some droll takes a dead frog as the starting-point for his lively attack, I quite forget what it was about, on one of disquisitions. The frog has already been made the the company, and went on heightening the ridicule subject of experiments, and is awaiting the removal at every sentence, till his face was like a wet cloak of its spinal cord. Mr. Lewes meantime snips out ill laid up,' as were the faces of all present, and es- a portion of the digestive tube. It seems quite pecially the face of the gentleman he was attacking. empty, and promises little even to the zeal of the At an evening party, at which I met him, the odd- mercurial experimenter. But he places a drop of est looking little old lady-for she was as broad as the liquid found in it on a glass slide, covered with she was long, and most absurdly dressed-as she was a small piece of very thin glass, and brings it under leaving the room, saw him near the door, and ac- the microscope. Behold the wondrous spectacle! costed him: How do you do, Mr. Rogers? It is First look at the monstrous animalcule which is very long since I have seen you, and I don't think, swimming about, and which we will call an opalina. now, you know who I am.' 'Could I ever forget Its pedigree and destiny are somewhat obscure, but you!" He said it with such an emphasis that she it is perhaps most probable that it is some worm not squeezed his hand with delight. I think it was in yet emerged from its infantile condition. But it the summer of 1842 that Rogers, Wordsworth, and will not grow into a mature worm so long as it inWashington Irving were all under my roof together. habits the frog. It must wait till some fish or bird I had met them at breakfast at Miss Rogers's, and has devoured the frog, and then in the stomach of as we came away at the same time, Rogers walked its new captor it will develop into its mature form. home with me, and Wordsworth and Irving, prom-In its present state, this animal is one of the least ising to come, took a cab. As they got into it, Rogers said: "They are a couple of humbugs, I believe; we shall see no more of them."

But we must not be enticed into devoting too much of our narrow space to this very agreeable volume. Our readers will find in it a rich source of entertainment, and will rise from its perusal with a fresh sense of the personal worth of the author, of whose kindliness and sweetness of disposition, and admirable feeling of justice, it is a perpetual illustration.

of all the animals, hardly worthy to be called an animal. It has no eyes, no teeth, no arms, no legs, no tail, and no more back-bone than many modern politicians; yet it is swimming about with a certain easy grace, as though it enjoyed the exercise, and, on the whole, was well satisfied with its tiny life. Look a little more attentively, and you will see how this is done. The surface of the opalina is covered with thin, delicate hairs in incessant vibration, which, from their resemblance to the eyelash, are named cilia. They lash the water, and the animal is propelled by their strokes, as a galley by its hundred oars. The mode of taking nourishment in the opalina is no less unique than its means of locomotion. It is without mouth, or stomach, or any other organ but the cilia. As a compensation for this, every part of its surface is breathing, sensitive, and assimilating. The liquid or gas which it lives on passes through its delicate skin by a peculiar process; it there serves as food; and the refuse passes out by a similar process in reversed order. Every part of its body thus performs the functions which, in more complex animals, are performed by special organs. It feeds without mouth, breathes without lungs, and moves without muscles.

Studies in Animal Life, by GEORGE HENRY LEWES. (Published by Harper and Brothers.) The versatile pen of Mr. Lewes is always prepared for service, almost irrespective of the department of literature in which it is summoned to engage. He seems to be equally at home, equally exuberant and hilarious, and equally delighted with himself, whether he undertakes to commemorate the ghosts of what he considers the defunct philosophies of the world, to record the recent developments of systems which claim to be the only genuine positive science, to analyze the characters and construct the biographies of illustrious modern poets, or to unfold the mysteries that lurk beneath the cilia of an animalcule. In the present entertaining volume he gives a specimen of "science made easy" in its application to the "infinitely small," and discusses, with an unctuous enthusiasm, the wonders of animal creation that are brought to light by the microscope, and which luxuriantly swarm in every ramification of the insect world. Though Mr. Lewes is constant-ally diverting, and if not uniformly pleasing, from ly in search of point and startling effect, and often launches out into a vivacity and even friskiness of expression, which may well cause the scientific plodders and delvers of the old school to open their eyes in astonishment, we have no reason to call in ques

The biography of numerous other infinitesimal manifestations of life is given by Mr. Lewes, and, as we think, in quite as successful a manner as that in which he relates the history of celebrated philosophers and poets, and systems of thought of worldwide renown. He is always a lively writer, gener

his incredible self-complacency and utter destitution of reverence, he never permits himself to grow dull, and throws out so many piquant baits to attention that the most drowsy reader on a summer's afternoon is not likely to fall asleep over his pages.

Paris,

Science a Witness for the Bible, by Rev. W. N. | eral scribblers, London and New York, Boston and PENDLETON, D.D. (Published by J. B. Lippincott Philadelphia, would easily furnish materials for a and Co.) The subject of this volume is the actual relations between the disclosures of the Bible and the progress of scientific discovery. In the opinion of the author, so long as the leaders in Christian thought remain indifferent to the advancement of physical research, and the body of Christian people retain the idea that scientific investigation tends on the whole to skepticism, and so long as the irreligious scientific mind has the field mainly to itself, and can use the pretext of persecution to brand religion as the foe of science, so long must these powerful agencies remain in defiance and disparagement of each other. He, accordingly, addresses himself to the task of showing that there is an entire harmony between the moral and material facts in question, between the triumph of science and the teachings of religion, and that, in truth, they are so thoroughly blended in their relations to the human mind as to prove their common origin in the divine source of wisdom. In pursuance of this object, Dr. Pendleton argues that mankind are largely indebted to influences derived from the Scriptures for that intellectual revolution in modern Christendom, which has emancipated the mind, and placed the keys of nature even in the hands of children. In like manner we are indebted to the all-wise Author of nature for the scientific methods to which He has adapted the faculties of creatures made in His own image. Among the topics which the author discusses are the human family, the chronology of creation, the age of mankind, and the monuments of lost races. His work exhibits a wide range of study, not a little ingenuity of argument and variety of illustration, and is often marked by a flowing wealth of diction and an impassioned eloquence.

A Run through Europe, by ERASTUS C. BENEDICT. (Published by D. Appleton and Co.) Mr. Benedict needs no apology, in these days of profuse spawning of travelers' stories, for inviting the public to a share of the enjoyment with which he has made a rapid visit to the principal objects of intelligent curiosity on a European tour. He had the advantage of precisely knowing what he most wished to see; no time was lost by frequent changes in the prescribed route of travel; he cherished no ambition to make new discoveries; he carried with him no fastidious prejudices; with the ripe experience of manhood, and a yet unworn and youthful spirit, he was prepared to admire with discrimination; and the record which he has here given of his foreign experience, for freshness, animation, lively description, and judicious comment, has rarely been surpassed in the legion of books of travel, which are annually submitted to, or rather inflicted on, a long-suffering public by the swarm of American tourists.

Then

character as loose as that of Paris. While these
cities boast of a preponderating religious, moral, and
worthy population which saves them from the char-
acter of dissolute capitals, so the vast majority of
the inhabitants of Paris and of France are not justly
chargeable with the vices which have given them a
bad reputation from the conduct of the few.
according to the observations of Mr. Benedict, has
never been in a more favorable condition than it now
is under the rule of Napoleon III. No government
has ever been more popular than the present. The
most admirable order prevails in the city. Never
was the smooth and easy routine which all classes of
Parisians love so much more complete than at this
moment. With plenty of work for the trades, plenty
of customers for the shops, and plenty of amuse-
ments at the theatres and gardens, there is no fear
of popular outbreaks and bloody fusillades.
any one that pleases may govern the French. They
have no desire to govern themselves. The Parisian
coachman, with whom Mr. Benedict loved to have
an occasional quiet chat, is no bad type of the pre-
vailing opinion of the metropolis. "The Emperor,"
said he, one day, "is just the man: we needed but
him. He knows how to hold the reins of govern-
ment as well as I do to manage my horses. We
don't want a republic-we have not been brought
up to it, and don't know how to make it go-we
have tried it and always failed." As they drove
past the Invalides, on the chapel front, where some
new gate-posts had just been surrounded with gilded
eagles, which he had not before seen, he exclaimed,
with delight, "There are our eagles come back
again!" He pointed to the macadamized streets
about that great hospital, and said, "The managers
applied to the Emperor to macadamize the streets,
to prevent the noise, and he did it. He does all
that is asked of him." Some say, however, that
the Emperor is so ready to macadamize, because
paving stones are so convenient in revolutionary
barricades.

Mr. Benedict extended his journey to the principal capitals of Italy, Germany, and Holland, on each of which he has something of interest to say, often furnishing a good deal of information in a few words. His book has not a little of the value of a guide-book, in its copious and accurate details, though its utility is immeasurably enhanced to the intelligent traveler by its numerous, original, and suggestive comments, and its ready appreciation of the quaint and comic objects which every where meet the traveler. As a substitute for crossing the ocean few recent volumes of travel can compare with it.

Rosa; or, The Parisian Girl, from the French of Madame DE PRESSENSE, by Mrs. J. C. FLETCHER. In spite of its French origin this juvenile story bears no resemblance to the unhealthy and often pestilent productions of the fictitious writers of that nation. Its purpose is to give a correct idea of do

Mr. Benedict, in addition to his excellent sketches of Parisian life, offers some forcible suggestions on the present political and social condition of that metropolis. In spite of the unfavorable impressions which are usually received by an American traveler on his first visit to Paris, there is a deeper and bet-mestic life in France among families that still retain ter life which, on the surface, appears to be given simplicity of purpose, and have not cast aside moral over to utter and hopeless frivolity. There is a so- and religious principle as an antiquated humbug. briety and reality in the real currents of Parisian The little volume abounds in charming pictures, life which do not suffer in comparison with London skillfully drawn, and differs from the high-wrought and New York. In every large city, especially scenes of popular French novels, "as do the sweet every gay capital, vice and irreligion assume the breath of morn, the smell of violet and of new-mown most agreeable manners, and press themselves for- hay, from the hot, perfumed, unhealthy atmosphere ward into the best circles and the most conspicuous of a Parisian drawing-room." (Harper and Brothplaces. With the same sort of romancers and ephem-ers.)

ANGLO-SAXON MIND, AND ITS GREAT and quicken the instincts of its own heart by finding

meanings in these ancient prophecies for its deepest personal intuitions. Other people's facts are somewhat less or more in its transmuting hands; and while it has a singular readiness in accepting hints, no matter whence gathered, you may always be sure that the finger-boards which industrious pioneers erect will not point out the roads it intends to travel in its explorations. Whether it utter itself in poetry or prose, whether it produce a scheme of political economy or invent steam-engines and huge ships, one inevitable characteristic stamps the creative act, and presents Anglo-Saxon intelligence and hope to the wonder of the world.

THOUGHTS.-There is nothing more wonderful in the scheme of Providence, so far as we can comprehend its earthly aspects, than the marked distinctness which it imparts to national character, and the relation it bears to the general welfare of the human race. The student of physical geography delights to trace the specific evidences of wisdom that are stamped upon the configurations of each section of the globe. And when he observes its mountainridges, the fertile lowlands, the graceful grouping of its vegetable forms, the exact arrangement of its rocks and minerals-all adapted to its particular position on the surface of the earth, and to the great interests of society as a whole-he needs no clearer | proof that Infinite intelligence has presided over this miniature cosmos. A well-built house is not better adapted to domestic purposes than is each portion of the world to the national life that it embosoms. Nor, indeed, can we take a truer view of the globe than as a vast suit of apartments, constructed in every variety of architectural fitness, to domesticate the different nations constituting its population. But these material shapes, so significant of the order and system of physical nature, are typical of an order and system beyond themselves. There is no completeness in the ideas they suggest until we ascend to the intellectual and moral sentiments of nations. Standing by itself, the material is the sign torn from the thing signified-a mere corpse without its animating soul; and hence, in the case of nations no less than of individuals, we must study their spir-never copies, never duplicates an institution. The itual being, and its historic developments, to ascertain the position which they occupy and the offices they are destined to fulfill in the progress of mankind.

It is simply our purpose, in this article, to confine ourselves to one branch of this great subject-viz., the prominent ideas of Anglo-Saxon Mind, as they have been wrought out or indicated in its civilization.

In this element of specific and peculiar manhood— a determinative power that stoutly holds to its own instinctive bearings, and refuses to depart from its normal line of movement-Anglo-Saxon mind stands in the foreground of modern civilization. Without doubt it is a vast debtor to others. Many of its ideas have been borrowed; but no sooner are they adopted than they lose their paternity, and become as the native-born offspring of the household. Thus, it may get from Europe the impulse of the Reformation, but its reformers will be a race by themselves, not to be confounded with Luther and Melancthon. Asceticism will cross over from the Continent, but the shape it takes in Puritanism converts it instantly into an original type. Open to it a new hemisphere, and Plymouth and Jamestown soon startle the world with realities and anticipations not before known. It

spirit of good or great things is promptly seized, and
then a facile creativeness is put forth, the fused mass
runs into its moulds, and comes out hardened into
its image and with its superscription. And there-
fore the marvelous continuity of Anglo-Saxon mind
in all its historical developments. Its ideas hang
together. Its mighty impulses, like the great rivers
of the North American continent, cut their channels
and roll their waters in the same direction. Anglo-
Saxon mind has a self-shaping principle; and that
principle, seated at the very centre of its being, nev-
er abates its sovereignty, never suspects its entire
competency to convert any and every thing into its
service. Imitate it may, but it is creative imitation.
There is an efflux of itself into whatever it achieves,
so that you can plainly see its well-defined individu-
ality. And, because of this, its inner life is a mira-
cle of strength. The outward, the palpable-the
dominion over land and sea-are not its existence,
but merely the body of its vigorous spirit.
Its pri-
mary article of belief is that progress is from the
within to the without-a force moving from the
brain and the heart into external embodiment-and
hence its successes, through a long series of years,
have not been fortunate accidents, splendid prizes
drawn in lotteries, but expansions, growths of ideas,
upheavals of subterranean fire.

The distinctness of Anglo-Saxon mind is one of those palpable facts that no thoughtful man can misunderstand. Deny it what you please, you can not deny its clear-shaped individuality. Whatever place in the ideal scheme of excellence its attributes hold; and whether, if submitted to practical tests, it is as profound as German mind, as agile and active as the French, as sensuous as the Italian, one thing is quite certain, that it has a personality none can mistake. As an integral part of humanity, it has much in common with other races. The sentiment of brotherhood, although sternly set aside under the pressure of circumstances, and in some of its minor forms by no means felt as its sanctity demands, is nevertheless a deep sentiment within its heart. But it believes in its own blood, has an ineradicable faith in its private convictions, and emphasizes its own opinions against the world. This distinctness reaches out in all the manifestations of thought and activity, shaping its culture, organizing its workshops and armies, and conducting the whole movement of its Had it not been for this firm-set purpose toward restless, energetic, aspiring civilization. Give it its own definite principles, this hold as of an iron any subject for reflection, and an Anglo-Saxon mode hand on its rights and prerogatives, this uncomproof ideas is the result-a logic with its own premises mising selfhood in what it felt itself ordained to deand conclusions-a philosophy that adheres to its fend and maintain, Anglo-Saxon mind had never fixed originality. The mysteries of the universe been able to fulfill that most serviceable ministry to translated into Plato's idealities or Kant's specula- the interests of humanity which the annals of modtions, embodied in Homer's symbols or Dante's stat-ern civilization so truthfully record. Again and uesqueness, can not satisfy its searching eye; but, turning away from them, it seeks to interpret these strange forms in the syllables of its own language,

again it has been, as a magnificent coral breakwater, lifted by no earthly hand from the dark places of the deep, belting the continents that teem

ed with defenseless life, and restraining the turbulent glory are musical wind, your speculations are spun surges that threatened another ingulfing of the treas-out of intellectual silk-worms, unless you strike at ures of the world. Again and again it has asserted the the roots of its consciousness. Whatever infirmities unconquerable majesty of the race, restored the reign Anglo-Saxon mind has (and they are too patent to of order and peace, and vindicated the claims of escape observation), it is certainly truth-loving and Providence as an arbiter, present and authoritative, truth-seeking, not enslaved to an idolatrous regard in the affairs of men. Again and again it has had for shams, not easily duped by glittering shows, but the inherent vitality of its distinctive ideas, the anxious to knock at the very heart of things, and to grandeur of its hopes, subjected to the severest tests; learn what amount of real life it can give to its afto trials intense and protracted, in times of war, in fections and aspirations. One can easily see how times of tranquillity; but out of them all it has this rigid decision of character, this habitual tenacity come with a profounder conviction of its providen- of purpose, may lead to morbid excesses, or degential work, and a more heroic devotion to its destined erate into a stolid insensibility to needed reforms, aims. Nor would it be practicable, we think, to and otherwise interfere with the generous spirit of name any other form of mind, acting over so broad advancement, Such humiliating facts are palpable a surface of human interests, in whose history the enough in the history of Anglo-Saxon mind. Nevinward shape and the outward connections had coa- ertheless, let it be said that vices which spring from lesced with such singular completeness. By means perverted virtues are never radical or ruinous evils. of that recondite force, far too subtle for analy- Despite of the variations in the compass-needle, we sis, which lies behind all notions of liberty and may depend on the magnetic force to rule our navisociety, which adjusts them in systematic relations gation. to one another, watchful lest any assume a false magnitude and overbear the rest, and which exercises the best of skill in adapting these ideas to the circumstances of the actual world, Anglo-Saxon mind has occupied just such an attitude as secured it the full advantages of disciplinary experience without impairing the original vigor of its faculties. To this day the primal stock survives. The growth of centuries has merely perfected the germinal traits that belonged to the infancy of the race; and underneath all the luxury and refinements of the middle period of the nineteenth century, send it to Polar ice or to India, send it to Mexico or California, and it will show the same hardihood, the same sinews of brass, the same unyielding endurance as once characterized it when dwelling in the rude huts of the forest or indulging its wild adventures on the sea.

Nor, indeed, is this surprising. Anglo-Saxon mind is distinguished in nothing so much as an imperial control over its own consciousness. That consciousness is not to be disturbed. It can not be invaded, can not be seduced from its permanent instincts and organic laws. The fact is that this consciousness, apprehending the exact import of its mind, assured of the nature and extent of its capacity, and never needing to measure itself by the standards of occasion and opportunity before it can determine its ability, is the precise counterpart of the external senses, and toward its objects is quite as definite as eye, ear, and touch. The more closely we study this peculiarity of Anglo-Saxon mind, the more clearly shall we perceive its vital bearing on its activity and enterprise. A calm, firm, steady consciousness-one proof against the stealthy intrusion of doubts, and foreclosed to enfeebling fears one able to repose on its decisions, and, while free from blind dogmatism, refuses to treat its deliberate judgments as questions forever open-this stern and adamantine consciousness is the substance itself of all great and noble mind. Where it is wanting there is really no certain ground-work for convictions. The brain is a mere tent in which whims, and caprices, and fluctuating opinions lodge at will, and depart. Such a form of mind never has the fibres of habit intertwined with bone and muscle, never has an organic creed, never delights in institutions, and consolidates itself for future ages. But the Anglo-Saxon race is not of this cast. Its temperament is not capricious and vacillating. Not until it gets a firm foot-hold on granite rocks is it ready for action; and all your fine sentiments about

Just, then, as we value the soil by the fertilizing rocks lying beneath its superficial crust, and without which its productiveness would be soon exhausted, so, too, we estimate the worth of Anglo-Saxon modes of thought by that broad, earnest, self-sustained consciousness which we have noticed as the substratum of its opinions and purposes. Opinions and purposes, founded most generally in temporary reasons, and subject to the variable dictates of expediency, must undergo modifications. Like the ocean, our life is full of currents, all obeying a common centre of gravitation, but at the same time flowing in different directions. The logic of today, so far as it depends on circumstances, may be the sophistry of to-morrow; ay, the facts of one hour may be the fictions of the next. And hence the mind of an individual, or of a race, that has no reserved consciousness, is destitute of those principles which, as need requires, can replenish its wasted strength and create new forms of life. Such a mind has no funded character on which it may fall back and renew its energy. Accordingly it has no capacity for experience, learns no lessons, never becomes any the wiser because of its blunders, nor any the richer by means of prosperity. If it attempt to organize a specific kind of civilization, it is a mere mechanical structure—a frame-work of hammer and nails, of glue and mortices-instead of a living soul in a living body. Take the opposite of this, and you have Anglo-Saxon mind—a mind pre-eminently distinguished by the breadth of its consciousness; by a hearty grasp of the fundamental principles of belief and moral agency, and a complete satisfaction with them; by a settled trustfulness in its instincts not to be shaken; by a reverence for its traditions that dulls the edge of ridicule and deprives sarcasm of its sting; and, lastly, by a religious spirit, that accepts God's revealed word as the only legitimate basis of civilization, and never quite loses sight, amidst its hard materialism and sordid selfishness, of that stern and inflexible judgment which this word pronounces on its thoughts and deeds.

If the foregoing views are correct, as to the influence that the natural constitution of the mind exerts over its opinions and acts, it would be reasonable for us to expect that, while Anglo-Saxon mind had a predisposition toward certain modes of thought, it would select, by the secret laws of affinity, some of these sentiments for special emphasis. In every stage of genuine culture all truth must be, to some extent, perceived. Reason, imagination, sensibili

This sentiment of fraternization, then, is a striking trait of Anglo-Saxon mind. Nowhere in the world are individualities of character and conduct more palpable; nowhere are they more whimsical and ridiculous; nowhere are crotchets and idiosyncrasies and "isms" more abundant. They are prized, too, as if dear life itself tenanted them, and nothing else. Bitter and violent prejudices are indigenous to its prolific soil; and yet, despite of all the by-play of repelling tendencies, the great heart of the Anglo

To nucleate is its first and last thought. Society is its absorbing interest-society for political union, society for trade and community of ideas, and interchange of feelings. Not that it loves society for its own sake, or delights in it for the parade of courtesy

ing force, an aggregation of elements, a momentum of will and impulse, that gratifies its sense of power, and calls out its restless activity. One aspect of this Anglo-Saxon sentiment Hobbes undertook to philosophize into a theory of Society, and with quiet complacency tried to make us believe that we are fight

ty, conscience, must each have its proper nutriment; | pulses keep time, and the race is instantly embodied and hence the truths adapted to nourish these dis- in one gigantic manhood. tinct faculties must be more or less apprehended. But it is the nature of all strong and energetic mind to see the relative proportions of truths, to assign each its rank, and to set particular sentiments aside, as it were, from others, that it may enjoy a selecter companionship with them. The human mind is so constituted as to have its favorite truths, just as every heart has its favorite friends. And hence temperament, taste, hereditary laws of organization, have a constant agency in giving a decided predominance to peculiar ideas. Through its whole history Anglo-Saxon race is impassioned in behalf of fellowship. Saxon mind illustrates this significant law; nor, indeed, is there any thing in its career more striking or more indicative of a great destiny than the resolute fidelity with which, in the midst of revolutions and convulsions, it has clung to its distinctive beliefs. For these cardinal doctrines it has cherished an enthusi-and the pleasures of pastime, but chiefly as a workasm that has operated like a fascination on its faith and love; and consequently the Anglo-Saxon mind, in a historical point of view, by this uncompromising devotion to its paramount ideas, presents an attitude little short of the sublime. The spectacle of a mighty race, amidst all the changes of fortune, standing firmly and bravely by its accepted trust,ing animals, and need government to keep us from and at each forward step, in every new institution, devouring one another. But this is a botanical anbearing on the ancient ark which it followed through alysis of the thorns about the rose, not of the rose the desert, such a spectacle inspires hope for the fu- itself. Beasts of prey hold aloof from each other ture progress of humanity, and confirms our confi- because they are beasts of prey; and hence, grantdence in those prophetic songs, which the heart ing Hobbes his premiss of selfishness, society could chants in all its better moods, of a blessed age to never be constructed on such a foundation. The come. Assure us that humanity can retain what it fundamental principle of the theory is false; man has acquired; can put a new-found treasure under has no such intense and destructive selfishness as he safe guardianship; can imbed its enlarging thoughts predicates. Society is an instinct from God; and and aims in appropriate institutions, and the prob- human beings, by virtue of their original nature, lem of growth is practically solved. It is the pre- seek one another that they may gratify their deep serving, organizing, perpetuating power that we yearnings for companionship, and, by means of muwant; and therefore, wherever this is found, we may tual sympathy and support, fulfill their destiny. assume that advancement will inevitably ensue. This sentiment of the Divine origin of society is fast Now this is the historic moral of Anglo-Saxon rooted in Anglo-Saxon mind; and, because of it, mind. When it opens a pathway, thenceforward Family, Law, Government, Church, are reverentialthat pathway remains without obstructions, and beg-ly honored. Herein a basis is laid for a massive sugar and prince, side by side, for all time, may walk perstructure; and nothing is surer than that the intherein. Its conquests are made secure. Give it stinct of society, under the guidance of God's provfresh ideas, and they are quickly assimilated. Ut-idence, will develop itself in forms suitable to the ter a stirring word this morning, and to-night it will wants and circumstances of our nature. The sigecho in thousands of dreams. For every jewel it has nificant point in this connection is, that however a casket ready. Its institutions are immense store- much Anglo-Saxon mind may be indebted to philoshouses, in which what Alfred, Cromwell, Washing-ophers and legislators for certain external benefits ton, Wellington, Nelson did are packed away for safe keeping. The sense of a common property in things acting in all classes of Anglo-Saxon mind, and securing a concert of movement in all its prominent interests, is one of the social phenomena that it never fails to exhibit. Publish a great book, all must read it. Let a popular orator make his appearance, and every rank flocks to hear him. If Savary seizes the incipient idea of the steam-engine, the Marquis of Worcester, and Watt, with a host of others, will catch the hint, and the fiery zeal will not abate until the work is perfected. Every one has a private call to be a man of mark in something or other, and admiration and ambition are wholesale virtues. Owing to the force of this unitary senti- The domestic idea in Anglo-Saxon mind, sustainment, Anglo-Saxons, with all their diversity of cul- ing itself in a parallel line of development with other ture and tastes, are remarkable for the solidity and forms of social interests, is preparing, we think, in compactness of all their social forms; for intense our day, for a yet higher and nobler manifestation. sympathy with the generic ideas of their race; and In England, within half a century, a vast deal of for a capacity to combine and harmonize that no thought has been concentrated on this subject, and, other form of mind has ever equaled. Let an emer-happily, with most encouraging results. If that gency arise and their very lungs breathe together, worthy band of silent, patient, toiling reformers,

of civilization, its own truthful instincts, fresh from the Divine hand, have fashioned its great thoughts, and instituted its hallowed relations with respect to society. Certain it is that where these primal truths are left as far as possible to their own action, without conventional interference, the more energetic and reliable their influence; nor can we doubt that the main reason why Anglo-Saxon mind has far surpassed all other branches of the human family in the force, scope, and matureness of its social ideas, has been owing to the fact that, undistorted by philosophic schemers and uncorrupted by idealistic regenerators, it has had freedom of opportunity to embody its own wise and genial instincts.