the copious collection and right use of facts of this sort, that progress will be made (if ever) in the science of mind.

But, notwithstanding the apparent coldness of his temperament, Edwards was manifestly susceptible, and in no common degree, of those emotions which are rarely conjoined with the philosophic faculty. Let an instance be taken from his diary:-" "There seemed to be, as it were, a calm, sweet cast, an appearance of divine glory, in almost every thing: God's excellency, his wisdom, his purity and love, seemed to appear in every thing; in the sun, moon, and stars; in the clouds and blue sky; in the grass, flowers, trees; in the water, and all nature, which used greatly to fix my mind. I often used to sit and view the moon for continuance; and, in the day, spent much time in viewing the clouds and sky, to behold the sweet glory of God in these things: in the mean time singing forth, with a low voice, my contemplations of the Creator and Redeemer. And scarce any thing among all the works of nature was so sweet to me as thunder and lightning; formerly, nothing had been so terrible to me. While thus engaged, it always seemed natural to me to sing or chant forth my meditations; or to speak my thoughts in soliloquies with a singing voice."

"Ho

That Edwards, by constitution of mind, was more than a dry and cold thinker, might be proved by reference to many passages even in his "Essay on Free Will," as well as his less abstruse writings. He was master, in fact, of a simple eloquence, of no mean order :liness, as I then wrote down some of my contemplations on it, appeared to me to be of a sweet, pleasant, charming, serene, calm nature; which brought an inexpressible purity, brightness, peacefulness, and ravishment to the soul. In other words, that it made the soul like a field or garden of God, with all manner of pleasant flowers; all pleasant, delightful, and undisturbed, enjoying a sweet calm and the gently vivifying beams of the sun. The soul of a true Christian, as I then wrote my meditations, appeared like such a little white flower as we sce in the spring of the year, low and humble, on the ground; opening its bosom to receive the pleasant beams of the sun's glory; rejoicing, as it were, in a calm rapture; diffusing around a sweet fragrancy; standing peacefully and lovingly in the midst of other flowers round about; all, in like manner, opening their bosoms to drink in the light of the sun. There was no part of creature holiness that I had so great a sense of its loveliness, as humility, brokenness of heart, and poverty of spirit; and there was nothing that I so earnestly longed for. My heart panted after this,-to lie low before God, as in the dust, that I might be nothing, and that God might be ALL, that I might become as a little child."

These sentiments were not the exuberances of a youthful melancholic ardour, but gave tone to the character and conduct of the man through life. To accomplish the will of God on earth, was the ruling motive of his soul; and to have sought his own glory, he would have thought an enormous departure from true virtue. If his definition of true virtue be liable to objection, his exemplification of it shewed him to have understood practically the secret of all substantial goodness.' Edwards, pp. cxxx-cxxxii.

was thoroughly scriptural and practical. It will be digressing from our main object, but we cannot refrain from introducing in this place, the entire Note which is devoted, by the Author of the Introductory Essay, to the illustration of the character of this eminent man, who combined in so unusual a degree the attributes of the philosopher and the saint.

The life of Edwards should be perused by every one who reads his "Essay on Freedom of Will." Let it be said, that his style of Christianity might have borne some corrections; and let it also be admitted, that, in his modesty, and his low estimation of himself, and in his love of retirement, his melancholic temperament had an influence. After every deduction of this sort has been made, it must be granted, that this eminent man, whose intellectual superiority might have enabled him to shine in European colleges of learning, displayed a meek greatness of soul which belongs only to those who derive their principles from the Gospel. How refreshing is the contrast of sentiments, which strikes us in turning from the private correspondence of men who thought of nothing beyond their personal fame as philosophers or writers, to the correspondence and diary of a man like Edwards! In the one case, the single, paramount motive-literary or philosophic vanity-lurks in every sentence, unblushingly shews itself on many a page, and, when most concealed, is concealed by an affectation as loathsome as the fault it hides. But how much of this deformed self-love could the most diligent detractor cull from the private papers or works of the President of the New Jersey College? We question if a single sentence which could be fairly construed to betray the vanity or ambition of superior intelligence, is any where to be found in them. Edwards daily contemplated a glory, an absolute excellence, which at once checked the swellings of pride, and sickened him of the praise which his powers might have won from the world.

Edwards (though, in listening to his own account of himself, one would not think it,) was a man of genius-we mean imaginative, and open to all those moving sentiments which raise high souls above the present scene of things. Among the reasons which inclined him to excuse himself from the proffered presidency, he alleges,-First, his own defects, unfitting him for such an undertaking, "many of which are generally known," says he, "besides others which my own heart is conscious of. I have a constitution in many respects peculiarly unhappy, attended with flaccid solids; vapid, sizy, and scarce fluids; and a low tide of spirits, often occasioning a kind of childish weakness, and contemptibleness of speech, presence, and demeanour; with a disagreeable dulness and stiffness, much unfitting me for conver sation, but more especially for the government of a college." This description of his mental conformation is curious, physiologically, as an anatomy of a mind so remarkable for its faculty of abstraction. May we not say, that this very poverty of constitution, this sluggishness and aridity, this feeble pulse of life, was the very secret of his extraordinary power of analysis? The supposition leads to speculations concerning the physical conditions of the mind, which must not here be pursued; but it may be remarked, in passing, that it must be from

the copious collection and right use of facts of this sort, that progress will be made (if ever) in the science of mind.

But, notwithstanding the apparent coldness of his temperament, Edwards was manifestly susceptible, and in no common degree, of those emotions which are rarely conjoined with the philosophic faculty. Let an instance be taken from his diary:-"There seemed to be, as it were, a calm, sweet cast, an appearance of divine glory, in almost every thing: God's excellency, his wisdom, his purity and love, seemed to appear in every thing; in the sun, moon, and stars; in the clouds and blue sky; in the grass, flowers, trees; in the water, and all nature, which used greatly to fix my mind. I often used to sit and view the moon for continuance; and, in the day, spent much time in viewing the clouds and sky, to behold the sweet glory of God in these things in the mean time singing forth, with a low voice, my contemplations of the Creator and Redeemer. And scarce any thing among all the works of nature was so sweet to me as thunder and lightning; formerly, nothing had been so terrible to me. While thus engaged, it always seemed natural to me to sing or chant forth my meditations; or to speak my thoughts in soliloquies with a singing voice."

That Edwards, by constitution of mind, was more than a dry and cold thinker, might be proved by reference to many passages even in his "Essay on Free Will," as well as his less abstruse writings. He was master, in fact, of a simple eloquence, of no mean order :-" Holiness, as I then wrote down some of my contemplations on it, appeared to me to be of a sweet, pleasant, charming, serene, calm nature; which brought an inexpressible purity, brightness, peacefulness, and ravishment to the soul. In other words, that it made the soul like a field or garden of God, with all manner of pleasant flowers; all pleasant, delightful, and undisturbed, enjoying a sweet calm and the gently vivifying beams of the sun. The soul of a true Christian, as I then wrote my meditations, appeared like such a little white flower as we sce in the spring of the year, low and humble, on the ground; opening its bosom to receive the pleasant beams of the sun's glory; rejoicing, as it were, in a calm rapture; diffusing around a sweet fragrancy; standing peacefully and lovingly in the midst of other flowers round about; all, in like manner, opening their bosoms to drink in the light of the sun. There was no part of creature holiness that I had so great a sense of its loveliness, as humility, brokenness of heart, and poverty of spirit; and there was nothing that I so earnestly longed for. My heart panted after this,-to lie low before God, as in the dust, that I might be nothing, and that God might be ALL, that I might become as a little child."

These sentiments were not the exuberances of a youthful melancholic ardour, but gave tone to the character and conduct of the man through life. To accomplish the will of God on earth, was the ruling motive of his soul; and to have sought his own glory, he would have thought an enormous departure from true virtue. If his definition of true virtue be liable to objection, his exemplification of it shewed him to have understood practically the secret of all substantial goodness.' Edwards, pp. cxxx-cxxxii.

To return to the Treatise on the Will. While Edwards, in that great work, achieved his immediate object, and, by so doing, rendered an important service to Christianity, the mode in which he has conducted his argument, is chargeable with that unhappy mixture of induction and abstract reasoning which, we have already remarked, is the prevailing defect of all metaphysico-theological writers. To this feature of his work, the Author of the Introductory Essay adverts in terms of strong, but just disapprobation.

If,' he says, the Inquiry on Freedom of the Will is regarded (and it ought to be so regarded) as a scientific treatise, then we must vehemently protest against that mixture of metaphysical demonstrations and Scriptural evidence, which runs through it; breaking up the chain of argumentation; disparaging the authority of the Bible, by making it part and parcel with disputable abstractions; and worse, destroying both the lustre and the edge of the sword of the Spirit, by using it as a mere weapon of metaphysical warfare. Yet, in justice to Edwards, it must be remembered, that, while pursuing this course, he did but follow in the track of all who had gone before him.

But, besides this improper mixture of abstract reasoning with documentary proof, the attentive reader of Edwards will detect a confusion of another sort; less palpable, indeed, but of not less fatal consequence to the consistency of a philosophical argument; and which, though sanctioned by the highest authorities, in all times, and recommended by the example of the most eminent writers, even to the present moment, must, so long as it is adhered to, hold intellectual philosophy far in the rear of the physical and mathematical sciences. It is that of mingling purely abstract propositions, propositions strictly metaphysical, with facts belonging to the physiology of the human mind. Even the reader who is scarcely at all familiar with abstruse science, will, if he follow our Author attentively, be perpetually conscious of a vague dissatisfaction, or latent suspicion, that some fallacy has passed into the train of propositions, although the linking of syllogisms seems perfect. This suspicion will increase in strength as he proceeds, and will at length condense itself into the form of a protest against certain conclusions, notwithstanding their apparently necessary connexion with the premises.' pp. xxv, vi.

Every attentive reader of Edwards's Inquiry, must, we imagine, have felt, that, in yielding to the compulsive force of the reasoning, his assent was at the same time committed, almost involuntarily, to conclusions which do not properly belong to the main and professed subject of the work, and which differ very widely from those truths that harmonize at once with the conscience and affections. The late Robert Hall once expressed this in his own emphatic way, speaking of Edwards in reference chiefly to this work,-'All thought is for him, all 'feeling is against him.' The main object of the present Introductory Essay is to analyse and separate, as by a chemical test,

the different elements of Edwards's argument, and to place in its true light, or to refer to its proper department of science, the Inquiry concerning human agency, free-will, liberty, and necessity. While assenting to that part of his argument which is purely of an abstract kind, the present Writer professedly holds himself aloof from every conclusion which involves phy'siological facts of a kind either not considered by the Author ' of the Inquiry, or not known to him.' The important service which he has hereby rendered to both theological and intellectual philosophy, will best be seen from an analysis of the subsequent sections of the Essay.

The question of moral causation and necessity may be considered as either, 1. one of common life, affecting the personal, social, and political conduct of mankind; 2. one belonging to theology and Christian doctrine; 3. a physiological question; or, 4. one coming under the head of the higher metaphysics. The Writer treats it under each of these supposable aspects. That it does not belong to the first class, that of practical truths, -that it has no pretensions to intrude itself into the sphere of the substantial interests of life,-will readily be perceived. Yet, there has been a season, the Writer remarks, during which abstruse dogmas of this description were allowed, in a neighbouring country, to come forth from the cells and closets of the sophist and sceptic, and to infest the day-light region of real life. In a note, he adverts to the remarkable disposition manifested by our continental neighbours, to ascend, in the discussion of practical questions, to the high places of philosophy.

It must not be said of the English, that they are not a philosophical people. Yet, it is true, that, whenever the substantial interests of life are under discussion, they shew a determined dislike to abstract or metaphysical argumentation; they will listen to nothing that is not unquestionably pertinent and proximate. The good sense, the love of despatch and of perspicuity, which belong to the mercantile character, are here apparent. And may we not also say, that the mingled modesty and pride of the English character have a share in producing the same effect? An Englishman avoids speaking of matters to which he has not given sufficient attention; he will not expose himself to ridicule by venturing beyond his line: he therefore leaves philosophy to philosophers, and talks of politics and commerce only as matters of fact.'

There is much truth in this favourable explanation of the characteristic difference between us and our neighbours; but something may be said on the other side. The good sense of the Englishman is shewn in his dislike of affectation and mystification, and in his shrewd, business-like way of judging of matters essentially practical. But, while we never wish to see