the abstract; but if we look on them as actually incorporated with the human mind, we shall find they exhibit and justify the same conclusions.

I scarcely know of two men, who resembled each other, in the intellectual structure of their minds, more than Joseph Butler and David Hume. Both of them men of genius, fond of abstract discussion; not very imaginative; sagacious, acute, discriminating, and deeply impressed with the fallacy of human reason, and of course inclined to skepticism. Take their minds, as furnished by nature, and they are almost exactly alike. I hardly know which is the greatest doubter. But, to what different results did they come. Hume shewed the negative side, and stopped there. He shewed the weakness of reason; he had no wish to proceed and shew its strength. He pointed out clearly that we must doubt; he had no desire to shew when we must believe. Butler proved, as clearly as Hume could, the weakness of our reason; but he went on and completed the whole circle. Hume, when he performed the process of skeptical subtraction, had no purpose of shewing that any quantity remained. Butler shewed that, after large subtractions, there was much remaining. Hume, in tracing his circle of philosophy, shewed us there was a hemisphere of darkness and night. Butler shewed as wide a circle, perhaps, of darkness as he; but he shewed us, also, a hemisphere of day. The one gave us the half-truths of sophistry, and the other the integrity, or wholeness of true wisdom. There is a beautiful example of Butler's philosopy, in a single paragraph of his sermon on HUMAN IGNORANCE: Creation,' says he, is absolutely and entirely out of our depth, and beyond the extent of our utmost reach. And yet, it is as certain, that God made the world, as it is certain that effects must have a cause.' What a beautiful specimen of comprehensive truth! Stop at the first paragraph, and you would suppose that the author was about to throw darkness over the creation, and blot out all proofs of the divine existence. But read the second, and you discover that the author fixes one of the fundamental truths of religion on its surest foundation. In short, as some generals begin the battle by a retreat, only to break the ranks of the enemy, and to prepare for a more terrible onset, so such doubters as Butler, state their objections only more firmly to establish their cause. In such pages, we pass through the night to enjoy the day.

One point more remains to be noticed; and that is, how the Bible corresponds with these laws of the human mind.

It is certain, the Bible requires a strong faith in its truths; and the question is, how such a requisition is consistent with the natural skepticism which all the reflecting must feel, and all, who are ingenuous as well as reflecting, must own.

Strong faith may mean, either the unhesitating assent we give to a presented propositon, or the strong effects or emotions which that proposition awakens in the heart. In the second sense, I apprehend there can be no difficulty. For, only once admit that the existence of God is proved, and no language can express the depths of conviction, the sense of his presence, the reverence, love, and humility, which ought to occupy our hearts. So, once admit that the Bible is the word of God, and the most implicit trust in its doctrines is the most natural result. In other words, the truths of the Bible are calculated to produce deep impressions; and, in this sense, strong faith is as much a legitimate result of revelation as deep grief at the sight of a pathetic tragedy. This is the philosophy of the sacred writer, when he said

I believe; therefore have I spoken.' But, as to the first sense of strong faith it seems to me, that if scrutiny, after subtracting doubtful points, leaves the remaining more certain, and if the proofs of revelation do remain after scrutiny, why, then it is natural that this skepticism should lead to a stronger faith. Accordingly, we find that no men have had a deeper conviction of religion than those who have at first questioned or denied its truths. It is exactly the process we should expect. It is as natural as sun-rising. A RESOLVED DOUBT IS THE STRONGEST PROOF. Paul began by opposing religion, and ended one of its strongest advocates; and I think, if we could have looked into the mind of Butler, we should have found an amount of faith then which a less scrutinizing mind could hardly comprehend. A blown-away fog leaves the

ocean sparkling with the purest light. All this is exactly laid down in the Bible. It completely meets the known laws of the mind. WE SEE THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. There is a principle of skepticism in every man. The greatest dogmatists sometimes feel it. Some confident conclusions have been overthrown; and the boldest doubt. The Bible justifies this; we see through a glass darkly.

But, in all minds there is a principle of belief. The most skeptical sometimes feel it. It is so unnatural for a man always to hesitate, that he must sometimes conclude. Though the glass is dark, yet through it we SEE. And so, both arcs join, and the circle is complete.

*I speak of faith, here, in the first sense; how strong Butler's emotions were, as another question.

97

NAPOLEON'S EPITAPH.

BY MRS. SIGOURNEY.

"THE moon of St. Helena shone out, and there we saw the face of Napoleon's sepul chre characterless, uninscribed.'

Thou, who didst sit,

Like eagle on the apex of the globe,

And hear the murmuring of its conquer'd tribes,

As chirp the weak-voiced nations of the grass,

Why art thou sepulchred in yon far isle,

Yon misty speck, which scarce the mariner

Descries, 'mid ocean's foam? - Thou, who didst hew

A pathway, for thy host, above the cloud,

Guiding their footsteps o'er the frost-work crown

Of the thron'd Alps, why dost thou sleep unmark'd,

Even by such slight memorial as the hind
Carves on his own coarse tomb-stone?

Bid the throng,

Who pour'd thee incense, as Olympian Jove,
And breath'd thy thunders on the battle-field,
Return and rear thy monument. Those forms,
O'er the wide vallies of red slaughter spread,
From pole to tropic, and from zone to zone,
Heed not thy clarion-call. But should they rise,
As in the vision that the prophet saw,

And each dry bone its sever'd fellow find,

Piling their pillar'd dust, as erst they gave

Their souls to thee, the wondering stars might deem,

Write the first line, if thou hast blood to spare.

-Thou, too, whose pride did deck dead Cæsar's tomb, And pour high requiem o'er the tyrant band,

Who had their birth with thee,-lend us thine arts

Of sculpture and of classic eloquence,

To grace his relics, at whose warrior-frown
Thine ancient spirit quail'd; and, to the list
Of mutilated kings, who glean'd their meat
'Neath Agag's table, add the name of Rome.
-Turn, Austria !-iron-brow'd and hard of heart –
And, on his monument, to whom thou gav'st,

In anger, battle, and, in craft, a bride,

Grave Austerlitz !' and fiercely turn away.

-As the ruin'd war-horse snuffs the trumpet-blast,
Rouse Prussia from her trance, with Jena's name,
And take her witness to that fame which soars
O'er him of Macedon, and shames the vaunt
Of Scandinavia's madman.-From the shades
Of letter'd ease, oh Germany come forth,
With pen of fire, and from thy troubled scroll,
Such as thou spread'st at Leipsic, gather tints
Of deeper character than bold Romance
Hath ever imaged in her wildest dream,
Or History trusted to her sybil leaves.

-Hail, lotus-crown'd!-in thy green childhood fed
By stiff-neck'd Pharoah and the shepherd-kings;
Hast thou no tale of him, who drenched thy sands

At Jaffa and Aboukir, when the flight

Of rushing souls went up so fearfully

To the accusing Spirit? - Glorious Isle !—

Whose thrice-enwreathed chain, Promethean-like,

Did bind him to the fatal rock - we ask

Thy deep memento for this marble scroll.

-Ho, fur-clad Russia!—with thy spear of frost,

Or with the winter-mocking Cossack's lance-
Stir the cold memories of thy vengeful brain,
And give the last line of our epitaph.

But, there was silence; for no sceptred hand
Received the challenge.

From the misty deep,

Rise, Island Spirits! like those sisters three,
Who spin and cut the trembling thread of life :
Rise, on your coral pedestals, and write
That eulogy, which haughtier climes deny.
Come,- for ye lull'd him in your matron arms,
And cheer'd his exile with a princely name,
And spread that curtain'd couch which none disturbs ;
Come-twine some trait of household tenderness,
Some slender leaflet, nurs'd with Nature's tears,
Around this urn. But Corsica, who rock'd

DEAR ladies, could I but look into your eyes, like a star-gazer, I might read secret intelligences. Will you read what I have written? You love music and the dance, and are passionate for flowers; you sometimes cherish singing-birds, and sometimes young kittens. You sigh by moonlight. Once or twice you have wept over a love-story in the annuals. Sleep falls upon you, like a lace veil, rich with gold-embroidered dreams, and is withdrawn as lightly, that you may see brighter dreams than them.