the limits prescribed by his education and the laws. He distinctly avows that, with him, reason is subordinate to the teachings of the Church, as the Church is subordinate to the Jewish Scriptures. Of a temper naturally visionary, (though we find it impossible to discover any appropriateness in Coleridge's designation of "affectionate enthusiast,") had his mind but swung aloof from these moorings, we might have looked for extravagances, less wild and antic, perhaps, than we are doomed to witness among our transcendental savans, yet, from the superiority of his intellect, of sufficient consequence to save him from contempt. Sir Thomas Browne, then, did not waste his energies in a vain and endless chase after absolute truth. Clearly recognizing that man is but relative in his nature, and encompassed by no calculable course of events, nor influenced by the same unvaried causes, nor able, at all times and in all positions, to get a complete and reliable view of the elements on which his reason is exercised, he wisely abstained from a search he saw must be fruitless, and contented himself to attempt a discovery of his immediate relations, and of the wants arising therefrom. He thrust off every approach of skepticism, therefore, by a suppression of all doubts that arose to disturb a belief which he had once deliberately settled, knowing that in this state of imperfect vision, many uncertainties and apparent contradictions will attach themselves to all the weightier conclusions of our reason. The great subjects on which his contemplations most delighted to dwell, as already intimated, were of a nature far removed from the ordinary affairs of life, constituting a spiritual world in which few, in the present state of being, have leisure habitually to dwell. To lose himself in meditations upon an incomprehensible Deity, was his constant delight, and all the loftier themes of human life, and death, and destiny, were forever returning to his thoughts. In these was his existence; and none to whom such matters have any interest can lightly esteem the manifold and various lucubrations, of which his works are the elaborate record. | That Browne had something of austerity, has already been seen. Intellect with him was supreme. Affection was rigidly governed, and passion was suppressed. His enthusiasm, even, had a stateliness of march and a severity of demeanor, that amounted almost to a perfect disguise. His was not a heart that could love. At thirty, he tells us that he "never yet cast a true affection upon a woman. And though his marriage, some years after, puts a face of inconsistency upon the contempt at this period expressed for the other sex, yet it is easy to believe that no material change, in this particular, ever passed upon his mind. Such a cold, heroic pursuit of wisdom and virtue will always command respect and even high admiration, but there is nothing in it to love and we should greatly belie our own judgment and feelings, did we avow any ardent affection for his writings, or any impulse to seek for consolation and sympathy in his bosom, amidst the ills and perplexities of our life. While it makes us more proud of humanity to know that such a man has lived, we never feel our pulse beat warmer at the mention of his name-no sweet words of beauty and hope, from his pen, ever gush upon our spirit in moments of dejection and sorrow. Thomas Browne cared very little for the beautiful or the tender. He could weep at the idle parade of a Romish procession, but for a heart overwhelmed and broken. with grief, he had no kind word of comfort. He could name, doubtless, many hundreds of flowers, but their delicate loveliness never touched his heart. He talks much and frequently of nature, yet he could. never have cordially sympathized with the beautiful child of affection who should say in simplicity: "I have ever loved the flowers, and even from my earliest years, the greatest happiness that I could know was a solitary ramble among them, and an hour's silent communion with nature." Beauty, in his eye, was nothing—wisdom was all. We open his pages with reverence,―we read with admiration,-we close them and go forth into the world, to find a darker hue and a sterner aspect on the face of destiny, and a more sombre shadow upon all things. J. H. B. Sir HYMN OF CREATION. (IN THE INDUS.) Creation, as it is described by MENU, was a work of Brahma, who is the principal person of the three that emanated from Brehm, the VAST, the ineffable, ONE. Brahma, the first of created gods, gave origin to the world by conceiving it in his thought. See Article" The Laws of Menu," by J. D. Whelpley, American Review, Vol. I. 1845. The moon came up with dewy wreath, In mid heaven sat serenely, Gazing with extatic looks, On the old heroic books That Brehm hath written on the folded stars,— He struck the strings; the wakened lyre Leaped to an answer for his soul on fire The holy hymn rolled out and rang the willing wire. I. Mountains and seas, and suns, and stars, and spheres, That fill the deep caves of the dark Abyss With sounding Meres Of splendor, giving and receiving bliss! Oh, steadfast marks by whose keen glow *The Hindoo name for God. TO CHREESHNA* will I lift the strain, "Why glooms the desert tentless ?" thus he cried : "Be mine! be mine The task to bend it to the Will Divine! A harmony may wed its cloudy tide- A melody within its discord may be wrought; And under sweet compulsion brought, No longer wail, but clothe an angel's thought." III. He said, and from his shoulders swift unfurled Which owns the SIRE's immediate sway. With sympathy, and draw the angelic near Its awful but resplendent source: nor waited long,Soon shone he there with that selectest throng Who feel, in dread delight, The Father-Brehm's melodious love Strike through their frames a wondrous might An incarnation of BREHM. IV. He heard the thunders of Almighty Will He heard the echoes answering, answering still A high song pouring from the choirs Of giant seraphs ranked around, Like pyramidal fires with skies of azure crowned. But when the anthem died he made his mighty suit. His fervent voice was heard Ascending to the Secret Place. He paused a wave of smiles came floating down, 66 Who WAST and ART and ever more shalt BE!" Again his wings unfurled V. Like snowy clouds around a star, Beyond the Inner World. At last he checked his eager flight Close by the realm of Night: There lighting on a promontory, He stretched his shining hands: Slowly it felt their awful power sweep Along its wailing waves and solemn sands. And gathering to a rounded light, Went smiting all the Chaos to and fro, Until its dull eyes opened lazily to the glow. He spoke ! The darkness shuddering broke: Then the sun-orb, from a chasm, moaning in the troubled ocean, Solemn Saturn with his bright rings wheeling round his stately form, VI. But still the INFLUENCE brooding hung O'er all the spheres and peopled all their climes : First to the lower atoms clung; But took the nobler in the nobler times. It swept along with permeating song, In whose harmonious breath An Eden kissed to life the cold, black lips of Death. The snow-white swan went sweetly murmuring, VII. And still the Influence swept along, And still diviner grew the song. The wild bee murmured in the flower; the wild bird sang aloud; 1845. W. W. |