the difficulties that awaited him; he had too intimate an acquaintance with literature not to know that those who embraced it as a profession must be prepared to undergo the severest trials of patience and endurance. He had studied the experience of those who went before; he had grasped their thoughts, entered into their feelings, and had seen the depth of their love to science, art, and literature; he had watched, too, the suc cessive stages of their lives, alternating between success and failure, but at last ending in triumph; and inspired by a hope that he should succeed where some at least had succeeded, he set out for London in 1788, determined to give scope to the powers that he consciously possessed.

It was a great field on which the aspirant to literary distinction entered, and, despite the obstacles he had to contend with, the circumstances of the time rendered it peculiarly attractive. His temper was sanguine, he liked an atmosphere of excitement, and a troubled state of society was fitted to call some of his best energies into active exercise. He had a strong inclination to mingle in the scenes of political life. The state of society in London at this time was one of great uneasiness in consequence of the growing Revolution in France; things were rapidly approaching a crisis. The genius of Voltaire had for a time put a slight on truths which the philosophy of ages had taught; Rousseau had declared that the individual will was self-sufficient; and French scepticism taught that liberty had no bounds,—that true freedom was unlimited licence. There were those who cried loudly for the rights of men without recognizing their duties: it was not seen that the two are correlative. The influence of these things was felt in all directions. Political philosophy was making rapid strides, new principles were silently unfolded, and the mighty drama, which has been the study of statesmen and philosophers for nearly a century, another portentous scene of which has just passed before our eyes, was rapidly developing. The attention of men of letters everywhere was drawn to the interpretation of those tenets that were shaking the foundations of society; all classes were interested in the struggle. Speculations, as varied as the fitful course of events themselves, were uttered predicting the end; one class asserting that the new social movement was all good, another that it was all evil. To some it was the dawn of an epoch of light, to others it was a season of darkness; while one party hailed it as the approach of liberty, another held it to be an intolerable absolutism of might in which the right was trodden to the ground. The advance of "free thought," the reaction against superstition and intellectual bondage, threatened to leave no trace of estab lished customs, opinions, and principles. By not a few the notions & which the leaders of the French Revolution were the exponents were loudly applauded: men were about to receive their rights, and the evils of past generations were to cease for ever.

Even amongst its friends there was, however, a diversity of opinion on the effects of the Revolution, and this was soon evidenced by a division in the political party in this country which had at first hailed it with joy. There were those who took a desponding view of the progress of such sweeping political transformations; they could not believe the rising democracy was calculated to bring the blessings its advocates predicted, they had no faith in the triumph of principles so unprecedented in

history. Among the more eminent of this class was the great philosopher, orator, and statesman, Edmund Burke. He had watched with intense interest the course of the French Revolution; was intimately acquainted with its history; knew the sources from which it sprung, the ends to which it was tending; and with that philosophic comprehensiveness which was a notable feature in his intellect, reasoning from cause to effect, he viewed its ultimate influence on European society, and became the vigorous champion of its English opponents. Gifted with a mind of singular power, which had been carefully cultivated, and enlarged with stores of knowledge in all departments of literature, he was in a position to speak with authority. Speculative, profound, and eloquent, he never was more equal to himself than when he published his "Reflections on the French Revolution." The book was read with the greatest eagerness, and its author was at once charged with inconsistency. But however much his opponents differed as to the views he enunciated, there was but one opinion on the merits of the manner in which those views were expressed. It was universally acknowledged to be a work characterized by scholarship, eloquence, and thought; everything was submitted to the test of philosophical analysis; and the result was a bold and emphatic declaration-prophetic in its character-of the evils of the revolutionary commotion in France.

Mr. Burke's essay at once made an extraordinary impression on the public mind, and, as might be expected, drew forth much hostile criticism. Many denounced it as a giving up of those principles that the author had maintained during the whole course of his political life. But the replies were for the most part feeble. The "Rights of Man," however, must be excluded from the list. Paine's book had something to commend it to public notice. As an appeal to the populace it claimed their attention, but it was not calculated to receive much sympathy from the learned, to whom it was too vulgar and dogmatic to commend itself; in point of accurate knowledge, brilliant imagery, and rigid method of investigation, it sank immeasurably below the "Reflections."

Mackintosh was meanwhile engaged in preparing a reply. He too was deeply interested in the Revolution, and he examined the "Reflections" with a calm philosophic eye. There was not a point in it of which he was not master; and he understood well the position the great philosopher had taken. His extensive knowledge and classical learning enabled him to appreciate the merits of the book which he assailed, while his high admiration of the character of Burke rendered him impartial in his judgments. Burke's work was very popular amongst the educated classes; it had, in fact, produced a considerable reaction. But Mackintosh rose to the emergency. His "Vindicia Gallica" appeared in 1791, and quickly attracted popular attention. Its author, who had been comparatively unknown, was by one bound exalted to a high literary rank. To his task he had brought not only genius, but logical acquirements of a superior order, as well as refinement of taste. The influence of the "Vindicia," especially among the learned, was great. It was lauded by Fox, and praised by Burke himself. Pregnant with maxims of political wisdom, with rationally established principles of political economy, with original views of society, it was not only calculated to serve an imme

diate end, but also to take its place as a valuable contribution to political science. Mackintosh submitted the Reflections" to a severe examination, and executed his task so well that it rivalled, if it did not surpass, in vigour and brilliancy the performance against which it was directed.

The “ Vindiciæ Gallica" was hailed by many as a splendid defence of the cause of France. It brought its author into notice. His society was courted by men of letters, and the party,-amongst whom were Fox and Sheridan,—whose cause he had so ably vindicated, soon recognized his talents. The result was that he was drawn more closely into the arena of politics. He was still, however, without a distinct career in prospect. But the unsettled character of his life had not drawn his thoughts from what was so attractive to him, philosophy and literature. His heart panted for quiet study, so that he might contemplate those subjects which had always had a charm for him. He contributed for a time to a a newspaper entitled the "Oracle," for which he received remuneration; but now found it necessary to turn resolutely to a settled profession. He at length accepted the law, and after due preparation was called to the bar in 1795. Although not directly opening up congenial channels of thought, the study to which he now devoted himself afforded fine exercise for his subtile mind, inasmuch as it brought before him the great fundamental principles upon which law rests. Upon these he could generalize; for he was impatient of the technicalities of mere systems. Hence his predilection for the study of natural law, which led him to a careful examination of English law. Pronouncing the English course of education for lawyers defective, because he conceived that it lacked provision in this respect for the student, he desired a more liberal training, by the introduction of those subjects involved in the wider domain of jurisprudence. This ultimately induced him to write his "Lectures on the Law of Nature and Nations." The Preliminary Discourse, which pointed out the proposed plan, was regarded as valuable, and secured numerous commendations. Comprehensive in its character, logical and eloquent, and containing strikingly original views on the science of government, it called forth the highest eulogiums from the most eminent lawyers and statesmen of the time. In this Discourse he analyzed the nature and operations of the human mind, considered the relative duties of private life, the foundations of political liberty and political rights; civil, criminal, and municipal law; the diplomatic laws of Europe, and the laws of nations generally. This outline was further illustrated by his Lectures at Lincoln's Inn, where he had for his hearers some of the most distinguished men of the day. Mackintosh's taste for metaphysical thought is conspicuously manifested in the Discourse; throughout he evinces his liking for examining the fundamentals of morality; and his power of subtile distinction in relation to the perplexing problems of moral philosophy is also strikingly shown. From his first Lecture we subjoin the following extract :

“Refined and exquisite good sense, applied to the most important matters, which is called philosophy, never differs, and never can differ, in its dictates from that other sort of good sense which is employed in the guidance of human life. There is, indeed, a philosophy falsely so called, which, on a hasty glance over the surface of human life, condemns

all our institutions to destruction, which stigmatises all our most natural and useful feelings as prejudices; and which, in the vain effort to implant in us principles which take no root in human nature, would extirpate all those principles which sweeten and ennoble the life of man. The general character of this system is diametrically opposite to that of true philosophy:-wanting philosophical modesty, it is arrogant-philosophical caution, it is rash-philosophical calmness, it is headstrong and fanatical. Instead of that diffidence, and, if I may so speak, of that scepticism and cowardice, which is the first lesson of philosophy when we are to treat of the happiness of human beings, we find a system dogmatical, boastful, heedless of everything but its own short-sighted views......This is not the philosophy which Cicero calls philosophiam illam matrem omnium benefactorum beneque dictorum; for its direct tendency is to wither and blast every amiable and every exalted sentiment from which either virtue or eloquence can flow, by holding up to the imagination an ideal picture of I know not what future perfection of human society. The doctors of this system teach their disciples to loathe that state of society in which they must live and act, to despise and abhor what they cannot be virtuous and happy without loving and revering—to consider all our present virtues either as specious vices, or, at best, but as the inferior and contemptible duties of a degraded condition, from which the human race must and will speedily escape.

"Of this supposed state of future perfection, (though it be utterly irreconcilable with reason, with experience, or with analogy,) the masters of this sect speak as confidently as if it were one of the best authenticated events in history. It is proposed as an object of pursuit and attainment. It is said to be useful to have such a model of a perfect society before our eyes, though we can never reach it. It is said to be, at least, one of the harmless speculations of benevolent visionaries. But this is not true. The tendency of such a system, (I impute no evil intentions to its promulgators,) is to make the whole present order of human life appear so loathsome and hideous, that there is nothing in it to justify either warm affection, or zealous exertion, or even serious pursuit. In seeking an unattainable perfection, it tears up by the roots every principle which leads to the substantial and practicable improvement of mankind. It thwarts its own purpose, and tends to replunge men into depravity and barbarism. Such a philosophy, I acknowledge, must be at perpetual variance with practice, because it must wage eternal war with truth. From such a philosophy I can hope to receive no aid in the attempt, which is the main object of these Lectures, to conclude a treaty of peace, if I may venture so to express myself, between the worlds of speculation and practice, which were designed by nature to help each other, but which have been so long arrayed against each other, by the pretended or misguided friends of either. The philosophy from which I shall seek assistance in building up [my theory of] morals, is of another character; better adapted, I trust, to serve as the foundation of that which has been called, with so much truth, and with such majestic simplicity, amplissimam omnium artium, bene vivendi disciplinam. The true philosophy of morality and politics is founded on experience. It never, therefore, can contradict that practical prudence which is the more

direct issue of experience.

which is

Guided by the spirit of that philosophy

'Not harsh or crabbed, as dull fools suppose,

But musical, as is Apollo's lute.'

I shall, in my inquiries into human nature, only take to pieces the principles of our conduct, that I may the better show the necessity of putting them together-analyze them that I may display their use and beauty, and that I may furnish new motives to cherish and cultivate them. In the examination of laws, I shall not set out with the assumption, that all the wise men of the world have been hitherto toiling to build up an elaborate system of folly, a stupendous edifice of injustice. As I think the contrary presumption more reasonable, as well as more modest, I shall think it my duty to explore the codes of nations for those treasures of reason which raust have been deposited there by that vast stream of wisdom which, for so many ages, has been flowing over them."

(To be concluded.)

DENOMINATIONALISM versus "UNSECTARIANISM."

It is a frequent and favourite boast of the Romish Church that, whilst Protestants, are broken up into almost numberless sects and parties, it remains one and undivided. That there is uniformity in that communion is undoubtedly true; but that this uniformity is of such a nature as to justify the boast we most seriously question The same kind of uniformity is possible, not only to the Romish, but to any communion that excludes or subordinates the authority of the Scriptures, and gives the first place to the authority of the Church. If there is external union among Papists, it is because their whole strength is devoted to the suppression of free inquiry, and because would-be dissentients are visited with summary disgrace. Notwithstanding the external harmony, however, it is an undeniable fact that sectarian bitterness and party-feeling obtain to, at least, as great an extent in the Popish as in the Protestant Communion. Witness the envy and hatred with which the Jesuits are regarded by the other monkish orders. Still, there is one opinion upon which all Papists are agreed: so also there is a common ground of agreement amongst Protestant sects. Those hold the Pope to be the Head of the Church; these ascribe that position to the Son of God. The great Antichrist of Rome is to the various parties in the Romish Church what Jesus Christ is to the several sections of the Protestant Church. The outward unity of the former is the consequence of their holding an earthly head; and the absence of outward unity amongst the latter is due to their non-recognition of any master but a Divine one. When we reflect that this unity is maintained at the expense of truth and charity; by the strong and subtile influence of flattery, chicanery, and persecution; at the instance of pontiffs whose blasphemous assumptions of authority have horrified enlightened Christendom, it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that it is rather a subject for shame and humiliation than cause for boasting and congratulation.

VOL. XVIII.-FIFTH SERIES.

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