course of the search for truth, but when it beams forth in its own unclouded light, there is only one which the Creator has judged worthy to attend upon its perception. The grandeur of a truth may call forth sublimity, its unexpectedness may excite mirth, its revelations may occasionally be painful or terrible; but truth seen by itself, and obstructed from any such secondary considerations, is invariably followed by delight, which ministers to beauty. Observe the progress of the mind in arriving at the disclosure of truth, contained in a mathematical demonstration. At first all is dark, and consequently repulsive, except so far as expectation has prepared the way for pleasure. The first steps are taken with toil and little satisfaction, but suddenly one little ray of light breaks forth-you are cheered, and proceed with more alacrity. Another, and again another; each one perhaps the result of long thinking; but coming when it does come, like a flash of lightning, till the whole begins to brighten up as when the clouds are breaking away from before the disk of the sun, and suddenly, in all its clearness, the truth of the proposition beams upon you. That result has been reached by a series of efforts, each one of which admitted you to a nearer view; first dim intimations were received that truth was thus to be discovered; then partial glimpses, before a full view could be obtained; but there was no step in your course at which that truth existed in less degree than it did when you came to a full perception of it.

Truth is of independent existence, and not resulting from the organization of the mind which perceives it. The apprehension and appreciation of it may proceed slowly, on account of the obstacles obstructing human view; but when these are removed, it stands forth the same to all. Unlike emotion, which may exist in different degrees in different individuals, although the effect of the same cause, truth is invariably the same to all minds, and needs only to be distinctly revealed, to command the assent of all.

For the same reason, namely, that truth is independent of the mind of man, and of everlasting unchangeable existence, it comes upon the mind by flashes. As soon as you remove the obstacle, truth pours in its light. The only gradation is that of the steps by which the obstacles are removed. And as no truth can be apprehended, though suspicions of its existence may be acquired, until the last obstacle is removed (for to be seen as truth at all, it must be all seen), a pure truth always comes upon the mind instantaneously; not like emotion, now a little, now more, and now very much, all of the same kind; but like some unknown article of ancient art, exhumed from the ruins of Pompeii, exposing part after part, as the earth is removed exciting vague surmises in the mind of the expectant antiquary, but presenting its real figure only when the last shovelful has been removed and the whole comes into view. Or, to use another illustration, the seeker for truth is like the mountaineer

enveloped in the mists which so often hang with an almost definite boundary upon the mountain-side. He knows that there is a bright day beyond the limits of his cloudy region. As he approaches these limits the mist becomes less dense and bewildering; but still he wanders on, unrelieved from embarrassment, until he reaches that boundary, and by one step emerges into cheerful sunshine. Or, again, the rapidity with which the mind apprehends absolute truth, when all impediments are removed, is like the action of affinity in chemistry, or like the union of two drops of water when brought into contact. Observation of this phenomenon by the ancients led many to believe that such apprehension is not acquirement, but recollection; that the mind recognizes those eternal truths with which it has been familiar in a former state of existence, the moment that it succeeds in removing the obstacles of mortal error, as associated with heavenly delight, hastens to embrace them. Whatever the belief is worth, it proves their observation of the fact to which I refer.

The labor of the thinker is not, therefore, to make up a truth by putting many things together, but to dispel the ignorance from his own mind, that he may clearly see what is already existing as complete as it ever can be. And the artist who presents it clearly and distinctly, may rely upon producing delight. But no number of mere probabilities or plausibilities will ever make one truth.

The work of art clearly expressive of truth must be good as long as its materials endure. For its spirit is everlasting, and independent of the whim of human opinion, while that relying upon mere plausibilities is swept away by the increase of popular knowledge. In removing obstructions to the view of truth, to proceed gradually is not only on most occasions necessary, but is, when well executed, the most effective to the production of pleasure. "If I had on one hand the offer of all knowledge, without the labor of learning: and on the other access to knowledge by learning, I would choose the latter," was said by one of the most eminent German scholars and critics of modern times. Every new ray admitted furnishes a new delight to the inquiring mind, which is thus gradually predisposed to be pleased when the full glow of truth shall be poured upon it.

So far I have spoken of absolute truth, and its simple unassociated effect upon the mind. There is another sense in which the word is applied to the conditional relation of things, as the truth of statement or representation. This perhaps would be more correctly termed, as it sometimes is, fidelity; yet the more common word is not misapplied, for truth is really concerned in those relations. The fidelity of representation to the thing represented, or of the statement to the subject which it professes to state, may, without material error be represented as truth. Absolute truth is that which exists independently of the observing

mind, and is from all eternity unchangeable; as for example the truths demonstrated by mathematical science, which exist irrespective of either diagram to exhibit, or mind to perceive them. But the truth of representation in a picture is only the fidelity with which it calls up the conception of the original, or transmits the ideas of the painter: the truth of a narrative, the faithfulness of its conformity to reality. Here is truth independent of the observing mind, but not of the existence of either of its objects. Remove either, and the truth ceases to be. We can conceive of the non-existence of any landscape, as well as of the picture of it; of any event, as well as of the history thereof. Relative truth is therefore a source of delight of a separate kind from the foregoing, as perfection is never attained, and of course, the various degrees of nearness in the approach to it must constitute the measure of artistic excellence, where this is the end in view.

The state of mind immediately subsequent to an apprehension of truth is the pure and noble satisfaction which is called conviction, and, in feebler degree, assent. The artist may depend upon the latter effect, only if he succeed in producing the former; while the perception of that relation between the apprehension of truth and the delight of conviction will be followed by the emotion of beauty. So far the sequence is invariable. Yet truth, compelling the assent of all, will not produce the same degree of beauty in all,