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forego an opportunity of delivering, or rather inflicting, a speech upon whomsoever they could get to listen to it,) we think they ought of right, and also as a matter of policy, to be transmitted to the Deaf and Dumb Asylum of Pennsylvania, or divided among any similar institutions that may exist elsewhere. The disposal or division of the money in this way, would, we think, be happily calculated to produce a two-fold

moral effect, by operating as a efcak td lesson to those who talk too msti. z: a support and encouragement to i* who do not talk at all. That I maTKt Mr. Editor, fall into the fault I have bee reprehending, and become tedkw =i long-winded, I will here conclude, fair present, these rather hasty and Terr * sultory remarks. ATHESLiX


Companion of my soul, though years
Have borne that fatal hour afar,
More pure its distant light appears,
As in the heaven a lessening star.

Forever lost! thou'rt ever near,
For who in passion's ecstacy
Hath mingled with a soul sincere,
Alone can ne'er be deemed to be.

I wander by the sounding shore,
Where blissful, then, with you I wandered,
But love no more the billowy roar,
Since we are helpless, hopeless, sundered.

0 loved and lost, I thought thee near;
Yet wandering by those lonely sands,
In vain I turn with listening ear,
In vain I stretch mv trembling hands!

Proud swell the waves, then sadly fall,
Swift mingling with the parent sea;
Like souls returning at the call
Of Death to dark immensity.

Of sweetest words they mournful tell,
Of hours that minute-like flew by,
When whitening at our feet they fell,
With sound on sound and sigh on sigh.

Deep sunk in heaven's o'er-arching cope,
The stars looked down on dusky ocean;
Faint winds along the beached slope,
Gave the rank sedge a shivering motion.

No form was there to dash our folly;
No shape along the lonely strand,
Save ghostly tufts of blasted holly,
That pointed madly toward the land.

While now the wave reclining near,
I linger on the verge of sleep,
Thy gentle voice again I hear,
But wake to lose it and to weep!

Love born of Silence ! faintly tell
Sweet sounding words thy secret mow
Though softer than the breathing shrfi
That whispers of the flowing ocean.

But then the impassioned element.
Whose toiling wave still strives and
To thy deep throes a murmur lent,
And voiced pale passion's agonies.

Now wearisome these ocean noises.
That sweet and cheering were to me.
When thy voice mingling with their To:.-*!
Made such unearthly harmony.

While gazing on the rising waves.
Far seen by many a snowy crest,
Vague woe my weary thought enslavi--
Hope leads not to her holy rest.

Thy foot-prints on the sliding strand,
As then, again I seem to see:
So failed our dreams, swept by thehand
Of unimpeached Destiny.

So fails my life, 'twixt doubt and s!nv.
While seasons like the wearing «*««•
Heap high, or bring me low,—mv W«
Wastes slow, with ever-varying nwiioi

The sea still gaining on the shores, That hour by hour unnoticed glide, Till all the wearing wave o*er-po*wsDrawn darkling to the wasteful tide


There are two great conceptions, very neraliy altogether overlooked, which it all important to hold in full view, in our brts to understand and interpret the ghty problem of human life. In the st place, this life, while it culminates d becomes complete only in the form of orality or spirit, has its root always in e sphere of nature, and can never disigage itself entirely from its power; in e second place, while it reveals itself :rpetually through single individuals, it nevertheless throughout an organic pross, which necessarily includes the uniirsal race, as a living whole, from its igin to its end.

Nature, of course, can never be truly id strictly the mother of mind. The leory of an actual inward development 'man's life, out of the life of the world ;low him, as presented, for instance, in ic little work entitled " Vestiges of Crcaon," is entitled to no sort of attention or ;spect. The plant can, by no possibility, 'eep upwards into the region of sensation; nd just as little may we conceive of a trantion, on the part of the mere animal, over ito the world of self-conscious intelligence nd will. The sundering gulf is just as wp and impassable in the one case as it i in the other. But we must not so undertand this, as to lose sight at the same time f the mysterious life-union which holds otwithstanding between nature and mind. 'he world, in its lower view, is not simply he outward theatre or stage on which oan is called to act his part, as a candilate for heaven. In the midst of all its lifferent forms of existence, it is pervaded hroughout with the power of a single ife, which comes ultimately to its full *nse and force only in the human person. This should be plain to the most common observation. Nature is constructed, or we should say, rather exists, on the plan "t a vast pyramid; which starts in the mass of inorganic matter and rises steadily through successive stages of organization, first vegetable and then animal, till at

length it gains in man the summit and crown, towards which it has been evidently reaching and tending from the start. So, in the first chapter of Genesis, we have the process of creation described in this very order, and all conducted to its magnificent conclusion, finally, only towards the close of the sixth day, in that oracle of infinite majesty and love: "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every moving thing that moveth upon the earth." Man is the centre of nature, without which it could not be in any of its parts the living constitution which it is in fact; for the parts in this case subsist not by themselves, or for themselves simply, but in virtue only of their organic comprehension in the whole. Nature, of course, then rests in man as her own universal sense and end, and can never be disjoined from his life. The union is not outward simply, but inward and vital. Man carries in himself the full mystery of the material world, and remains from first to last the organ of its power. He is, indeed, in another view, far more than nature. Reason and freedom, as they meet together in the idea of personality, belong to a wholly different order of existence; in virtue of which, he towers high above the whole surrounding world, as the immediate representative and vicegerent of God in its midst; made in the image and after the likeness of his glorious Maker, as we are told, and for this reason clothed with supremacy over the entire inferior creation. But still, in all this dignity, his native affinity with this creation is not in the least impaired or broken. Nature clings to him still, as the noblest fruit of her own womb, in whose mysterious presence is fulfilled the last prophetic sense of her whole previous life, while at the same time this is made to pass away in something quite beyond itself. His personality, with all its world-transcending, heaven-climbing powers, remains rooted to the earth, conditioned at every point by the material soil from which it has sprung, and reflecting in clear image the outward life which has become etherealized in its constitution. The process of nature is thus rising upwards perpetually into the process of morality, by which in the end the problem of the world is to become complete in the history of man. The first is the necessary basis and support of the second, as truly as the stock is made to carry the flower in which it passes away. Man is the efflorescence of nature, the full bursting forth of her inmost sense and endeavor, into the form of intelligence and will; and his whole thinking and working consequently can be sound and solid, only as they are in fact borne and carried by a growth that springs immediately from her womb.

There is no opposition then, as is sometimes dreamed, between the natural and the moral. They are, indeed, widely different, but not in such a way as to contradict each other. On the contrary, they can never be rightly sundered or disjoined. Nature, in order that it may be true to itself, must ascend into the sphere of morality; and morality, on the other hand, can have no truth or substance, except as it is found to embody in itself the life of nature, thus emancipated into a higher form. Daughters of heaven as they all are, there is still not a single virtue which is not in this respect, at the same time, truly and fully earth-born; as much so, we may say, as its own sweet image, the natural flower, be it modest daisy or stately dahlia, that quietly blooms at its side. A morality which affects to be purely of the skies, can never be other than sickly and sentimental. The more of nature our virtues enshrine, the more vigorous will they be found to be and worthy of respect.

This is one universal law in the constitution of our human life. Another presents itself, as already stated, in the conception of an organic process, in virtue of which the problem of evory individual lifeis, from the start, involved in the problem that includes humanity as a whole.

Morality, by its very nature, is something social. It does not simply require the relations which society creates, as an

outward field for its action, hit ai also only in the sense of these reboots i a part of its own being. The idea «*e* which is of course originallv one anda^it in order that it may become actual, nns> solve itself into an innumerable nrcfcaB of individual lives, whose perfettios si sequently can be found again is no «K form than that of their general uniii; free way. Provision is made for as union in the natural constitution of b manity, bound together as it is bria» mon origin, and upheld by perprtai:;;lution from itself in the way of haw? But mere nature here is not suifv^: secure all that is required. Hnasi comes to its full sense only in the spiei of intelligence and freedom; and fi prper wholeness, therefore, is somethi: :• be reached only by the activity of o will, recognizing and embracing, wkk*d consent, the relations in which h * *• quired to move. This again snpp»« process, growing forth continually fr' the law of natural evolution and grcrt just noticed, by which the indiridul 2* in finding itself under its higher fun' self-consciousness, may be still engagw' seek its true place in the integtatkal life as a whole, flowing into this byfo spontaneous force of love, and resting' it as the proper and necessary perfctM of its own being. The unity of the an can be fully accomplished thns, ■( through the free action of the Brinf • ments into which it is resolved for ■ purpose. The process of the Mm' moral, and in no sense physical, eicept' conditioned by a natural coostitca* which adumbrates and supports ihesp* ual structure that springs from iw pre*** It is possible, in such case, of Cob*, the freedom of the individual subject a* benbused, and the law of love denied *» he is bound by his nature to howr ffl obey. He may so cling to his <W *f aratc and single life, through selfcls* and sin, as to wrong perpetually the i"^ of the general life in which this sbTM become complete. But in all t»* * wrongs, at the same time, the inmosJ *i and meaning also of his own imfim" being. Whether he choose to row* ■* count of it or not, he is formed for av"" ty, that is, for free inward union with Bt race, through the social relations in TM£>

stands; and his life can come to no lit development within itself, but must Ter rather perpetual violence in its nare, if it be not allowed to unfold itself in is its only normal and legitimate form. ">r«lity, including, as it does, the concepn of personality or the self-conscious d self-active force of reason and will, is mething general and universal by its ry nature. It implies throughout the ea of fellowship and union, the organic nrriage of reciprocally necessary and utuallv supplemental parts, working into tch other and conspiring in a common hole. In the power of this universal, miipotent and irreversible law, the life even- man stands, from the beginning, virtue of its spiritual or moral constituon. He can never be true to himself at single point; he can never exercise a rigle moral function, a single act of intelgence or will, in a truly free way, without oing beyond his own person, and minging, with conscious coalescence, in the sea f life with which he is surrounded.

By one of the greatest discoveries in nodern science, placing the name of 5chleiermacher in the sphere of ethics on he same high level with that of Kepler n the sphere of physics, the general moral function, as it may be styled, in man, is found to resolve itself, by a prosess of analysis which we have no time here to follow, into four cardinal forms of iction, two lying on the side of the understanding, and two on the side of the will. Each of these can hold properly only under a social character, by which the individual, in order that he may be at all complete in himself, is forced to enter into fellowship with his race. Thus arise four great spheres of moral union, in the proper constitution of the world's life. The first is exhibited to us predominantly in the idea of art; the second, in the idea of science; the third, in the idea of sociability, (geselligkcit,) corresponding very much with the conception of play, in its widest and most dignified sense; the fourth and last, in the idea of business. These four orders of life are not to be regarded, indeed, as standing wholly out of fcach other in the way of external distinction; the case requires, on the contrary, that they should grow into one another with inward reciprocal embrace, and it is

only their complete concretion in this way at last, as the power of a single life, that can bring the moral process to its rightful conclusion. Still they are, for the most part, as the world now stands, more or less out of each other in fact; and each has a nature also of its own, which it must always be important to understand and cultivate under such separate view. They are the four grand departments of humanity, each an organism of universal power within itself, in whose organic conjunction alone we have revealed to us the full idea of morality, as the proper life of man.

Not as co-ordinate in any sense with these, but as above them all, and as constituting indeed the only form in which they can become complete, stands the idea of Religion, as fully actualized in the glorious union of the One Holy Catholic Church. In one aspect we may style such a moral whole the Stale. But, in a perfect state of society, this idea itself must become merged in the broader and deeper idea of the Church, in which alone we reach the final and adequate expression for our universal human life. Religion of course then stands in no opposition to any of the great divisions of this life, as they have just been named; for this would imply an original contrariety between it and the actual constitution of the world, which the nature of the case must be held to exclude. On the contrary, it must have power finally to lift them all into its own sphere. Art, science, social and civil life, must all be capable of being sanctified by its transforming presence. It belongs to the very conception of Christianity and the Church thus, that they should take full possession of the world at last, not extensively alone in its outward population, but intensively also in the entire range of its inward life and it is only in proportion as we find their actual form commensurate with the idea of such a catholicity, that this can be said to have reached, in any given stadium of their history, its true significance and design.

Underneath this whole magnificent superstructure, on the other side, appears the primitive, fundamental form of society, in the constitution of the Family. As the four-fold organism of morality terminates in the idea of the Church, so it takes its start here from an organization, that may be regarded as the root of its whole process, rising into view immediately from the mysterious life of nature itself. The domestic constitution stands in no way parallel simply with the four forms of society that make up the union of humanity as a whole; it includes them all rather in its single nature, in the way of beginning and'germ. It is the rich well-spring, out of which flows the river of Eden, that is parted from thence into four heads, and carried forward with fruitful irrigation over the fair garden of life, till all its streams become one again in the deep bosom of the sea.

All society rests on distinction and difference. So the primary form of fellowship now mentioned, lying as it does at the ground of our universal life, is at once provided for and secured, by a radical disruption of the entire race into two great sections or halves, in the form of sex. Of all distinctions that exist in our nature, this must be held to be the most significant and profound, as entering before all others into its universal constitution, and forming the basis on the ground of which only all other relations belonging to it become possible and real. It comes into view accordingly in the first mention of man's creation; where we are told that he was made in the image and likeness of God, and at the same time under the two-fold character of male and female, as the necessary form of his perfection. His nature became complete, only when woman was taken from his side, and he was permitted to hail her bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh, in the new consciousness to which he first woke by her presence.

Thus radical and original in the constitution of our nature, the sexual difference must necessarily pervade, not simply a part of its being, but the whole. The life of man is indeed always a complex fact, made up of widely different forms and spheres of existence ; but it is always nevertheless, in the midst of all these, a single undivided unity within itself, bound together and ruled throughout by the presence of a common principle or law. The life of the body is ever in strict union with the life of the soul; and this, on the other hand, stands wedded again to that continually, as its own proper self under an outward material form. No less intimate and necessary, in the next place, is the connection

that holds between the iadividual narji/ constitution, thus inward and outward, id the proper personality of the subject B whom it belongs. It lies in the very exception of personality, it is true, bang » it is the life of the spirit in the form 'intelligence and will, that it should Do; U ruled blindly by the force of mere naict as comprehended in the individual orjazation. It is a principle and fountain rf action for itself, and is required to art l»'i upon the natural life with such indepeJent force, as may serve to mould ti fashion this continually more and moreii* its own image. But still, this origiiul 12! independent action, however free it wr be in its own nature, can never escapeircc the particular organization in which it iiits basis, and which it is called to fill its presence. In other words, the mm -■» life of man, his personal spirit, thougli absolutely universal in its own character, i made to individualize itself by union withe inferior part of his nature, while u the same time it seeks to lift this into is own sphere. Reason and will accordia.'ir are not the same thing exactly in allrv-i Personality is conditioned and compltt ioned, all the world over, by the individal physical nature, somatic and psychic, Ml of which, and by means of which, it C"Da to its historical development. It b n* possible then, of course, that it should wi participate in the force of a distinction M broad and deep as that which is involve! in the idea of sex. It results necessarily from the organic unity of every single ft as a whole, that the order which tin severs the human world into thetwogrud sections of male and female, should eitead to the most spiritual part of our natuK a well as to that which is simply corporttl There is a sex of the mind or soul,just* there is a sex of the body; an inward difference of structure in the one case, inchding the whole economy of the spirit, fancy and feeling, thought and volitioa. a broadly marked and strikingly signirltft, to say the least, as any outward chlereMi of structure which may show itself ia lit* other.

It is altogether preposterous to think^ resolving this difference into the innVscn of education or mere social position," though nothing more were needed to convert men into women, or womeu into men

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