made to roll remorselessly over their once conse- would say, and scrupulously attentive to "vulgar crated resting places. Or, let us put this subject in wants ;" and fearing that men, when immersed in another light from an actual case. After the revo- such transcendental pursuits, may forget their lutionary struggle was over, a farmer, whose cat-stomachs, would recommend as far more practitle had been unceremoniously used by the soldiers, cally useful, a viva gastronomia—“a setting forth sought to recover the amount by due process of of the nature, motions and influences," of various law. And he was right, a Baconian would say. What was liberty and patriotism, and all "the cant of this philosophy" to him-he wanted fruit? It happened that Patrick Henry, the orator of Virginia, was the advocate of the country against the countryman-of Platonism against Baconism. And he carried the day against the Baconian by the following concentrated view of the philosophy that seeks for fruit: "Amidst the rejoicings of patriots-the songs and shouts of exulting freemen-the roar of grateful artillery, for an emancipated country-here comes the hoarse voice of this man, brawling, beef! beef!!" Pity, the advocate of Baconism in the Edinburgh Review, or his admirer in the ancient dominion, had not been the antagonist of the immortal Henry. "He would have gone for the shoemaker." A man can eat beef-it is one of the largest of the "commoda vile;" but on patriotism he might starve. A man can count and weigh money, but the spirit of sacrifice for a country's independence is an impalpable idealism.

delicious viands, by which men who are prone to become too etherealized, and thus evaporate into mere angels or gods, might be rendered sufficiently material to transact competently the business of the present life. If any one feels disposed to object that ridicule is no test of truth or falsehood, we have only to say, that the reviewer has justly elicited such a mode of reply, by holding up the ancient Platonist philosopher to scorn, for his useless speculations. It is well to see that the ridicule is not all on one side. But seriously we object to the test of excellence in philosophy which the reviewer has given; and, therefore, even if he has succeeded in proving that Baconism produced such fruit, and Platonism did not, the question is still appropriately "sub judice” as to their respective merits. The end aimed at by Platonism was in itself noble. He failed, and his successors, whom the reviewer so severely satirizes, failed also; especially those who voluntarily relinquished the aid of christianity. But this does not prove We do not wish to be uncourteous, yet we are less. Grant that Plato failed to "form the soul”— the end itself wrong, or that its attainment is hopestrongly tempted, by some things we have noticed, to perfect his ideal wiseman-to realize his republic to judge very degradingly of the fruit which the in actual existence-ought we thence,despondingly, reviewer demands as the result of genuine philoso- to infer that man should never aim as high again, phy. Look, for example, at the significant quota- or may never aim hereafter more successfully, to tion out of Persius, "Cur quis non prandeat hoc reach this point of mental and moral elevation? est?" and the reference to the ox of Prometheus; Plato's was a splendid failure. His defeat had "goodly to look at, but containing nothing to eat." Is it libellous upon the reviewer to say, that his mis ausis. Because Plato failed in this noble end more glory than Bacon's triumph-excedet movi fruit seems to come under the category of gas- to lift man above the empire of the senses-to fill tronomy-a science pertaining to the "commoda his soul with the beautiful and the good-to exvita" in a very significant sense? Is it an unjust pand and refine him and make him on earth a inference, that a Baconian would consider this spectacle grateful to the gods-must it be forever more practically useful than another science, not abandoned? So it would seem. The reviewer-by very different in name, which appertains to the well directed contempt upon the whole sphere of heavenly bodies, especially if cultivated, merely effort, cultivated and commended by Plato, and by as an exercise of mind and a means of mental high eulogium on the substantial fruits of a medevelopment, without any reference to its utilitarian chanical philosophy-would turn us off entirely bearings on the mode of setting our kitchen-time- from the high pursuits of spiritual elevation and pieces, or ascertaining the precise moment when mental perfection, and make us fall down to the a soup may be spoiled, or a pudding overdone? poor ambition of attaining the best kind of eating, Read what the reviewer says of Plato's recommendation of astronomy and mathematics, as a of our physical necessities, while we are men. drinking, wearing, sleeping, riding, and the rest means of mental improvement, and his genuine abhorrence of all such fruitless pursuits, and then say whether we have gone too far! Plato, forsooth, loved and recommended the study of an astronomy, which would dilate the soul, and make it wander through the universe of being on buoyant wings, and realize its immeasurable superiority to all forms of matter, and its elevation beyond all limits of space. But this is idealism, the reviewer

Here is the choice he gives us. This is the boasted philosophy whose triumphs we are called on to admire, and whose speedy universalism we are invoked to promote. in this light, and call all else darkness. Who We are called on to rejoice does not say, as Lanctantius said, of one he passionately admired—“ If I must err, let me err with Plato, rather than be right with Bacon." If it be an illusion, I would not wish to be robbed of it for

"Like bubbles on the sea of matter borne,

To shine awhile, then to that sea return."

all the substantial blessings of Baconism; that | into the condition of well fed and nicely clothed man was made for something higher than supply- animals! ing his vulgar wants, and the proper function of philosophy, is to educe and develope those undefined but irrepressible presentiments that link us Passing by the aspect of this subject, which with a higher economy of being, and adapt us for might be called religious, the utter repugnancy a nobler sphere of action. I am well aware that between the whole spirit of this material philosoin saying this, I utter a sentiment which the taste phy, and the genius of christianity, which is emof the times does not receive very graciously, and phatically a plan of efficiently forming the soul to will possibly call cant. In the eyes of the re-glory and honor and immortality, by working into viewer, and of all who have learned to swear, in it the lineaments of the Divine character, as not the words of this master, all this is utopian and exactly appropriate to the pages of a Literary ridiculous. "An acre of Middlesex is better than Messenger, though it is, at the same time, its most a principality in Utopia." A shoemaker who serious aspect to every evangelical christian, these mends soles well, is better than a philosopher who protracted remarks will be concluded by a refer"forms souls" imperfectly. "The wise man is a ence to the great failure of Bacon's character, as grander object than a steam engine, but there are the most conclusive argument against his system. steam engines." Then we are sinners against the This, we acknowledge, is a mournful part of the We cannot laws of this reigning philosophy, and wilful sin-subject, but it must be touched on. ners too. It says, because Plato failed to make us agree that we must look at a system irrespective gods, and "filled the world with long beards and of the character of its author. These things are long words," we must be content to be noble connected in the reality of things, and ought to be brutes. It goes for available things. We may in our sentiments; and if our remarks have any build ourselves fine houses, and invent many lux- truth or foundation, what other character would uries, and transport ourselves rapidly from one we expect than what Bacon really exhibited? A part of the country to the other, or from one con- system which placed the highest estimate on the tinent to another, but that is all. It is a sin against "commoda vita," belongs legitimately to a father, Bacon to aspire higher. His advice is, as we who, with all the immensity of his learning, and cannot be divine, as the formation of the soul is the sublimity of his genius, deserted the friend of utopian nonsense, let us be so dazzled by flashes his youth, to secure the favor of the great, and perof power, and so whirled by engines of motion, mitted himself to be bribed to maintain the splenand so pampered by appliances of sensuality, that dor and glory of his establishment! Bacon's life we may afford to forget the loss. "It is amusing ought to be studied along with his philosophy, by to think with what horror" Plato would have ima- every one who is disposed to flout at Platonism as gined, that any man more than three thousand years utopian, and character as ideal. If Bacon was after he wrote his " Critius," would seriously urge bribed-if the "commoda vita" bent his moral such a course. And are we quite ready for this principle by their magnetic power-oh! how ignoble surrender? Shall we, by endorsing this coldly do his eulogies on them come to the heart; we may philosophy, as the “ultima thule" of human aspi- and though "painfully," yet profitably ration, retreat even beneath the dignity of an turn from contemplating his philosophy to conunenlightened heathen's ambition, when strug-template his life." His life may cool the ardor his gling to find man's noblest destiny by the lone philosophy has enkindled. Was this its fruit after star of unaided reason? Is this giant of learning all? Was he "the greatest, wisest, meanest of and prodigy of power, who has invested Baconism with such attractions, sporting with our credulity, or seriously recommending us to be satisfied if we are" comfortable," as are our pigs and horses, if they have the wherewithal to satisfy their vulgar wants? There are some in this land of characteristic utilitarianism; there are some it is to be hoped in the ancient dominion, who are not quite ready for this result, though "the Edinburgh Review," which with many is "an end of all strife," has "come out" to patronize" the philosophy of fruit," and to pounce on every one who dares to rebel against its dicta. Would that the distant voice of one of the sons of Virginia, might lead many to ponder, before this siren of a sensual philosophy has fully effected their transformation from the hope of being partakers of the Divine nature,

mankind?" Then can we feel safe in adopting his
system? Would the Redeemer of men be the
object of confidence in his system of truth and
doctrine, if he was not the object of unmingled
admiration in his character? Do we not instinc-
tively judge the tree by its fruits? And thus
judged, can we feel otherwise than a settled feeling
of distrust of the philosophy of Bacon, when, after
perusing his life," we turn from it as a checkered
spectacle of so much glory, and so much shame?”
My sincere wonder has been, that the reviewer
who so ingeniously acknowledges the failings of
Bacon's character, had not been led by them to sus-
pect his system; and that he had not anticipated, as
the writer has done, that the effect of the universal
reign of Baconian philosophy would be, to make
giants in intellects and pigmies in morality.
VOL. IV.-64

with the passions of life in the vain endeavor to overcome them, and become, what he professed to be, a devotee to heaven.

"Father," said the youth, "we are nearly at the end of our journey. We must surely reach my uncle's house before the moon drops behind the trees."

"Yes, my son, before the hour of seven arrives we shall be in his presence. Even now our road winds through his vast domains: look, Victor, and see what you may inherit if you are not wayward and foolishly proud."

"Proud! father;" said the young man, earnestly; "do you call it pride to shrink from forcing my cousin into an union with me? I have ber letter now next to my heart, and when mercenary, selfish thoughts intrude, I will read it as a talisman to preserve me from the meanness of desiring a connexion which is so repugnant to her feelings. That letter has made me her friend for life. My uncle will not find in me an instrument to further his cruel intention of separating two hearts that are united."

"Pooh! you are unacquainted with the character of your uncle: where he has once determined he is inflexible, and you will find yourself as wax in his hands. The girl, too, is surpassingly beautiful; you are at that age when love has the most powerful sway, and spite of your determination to the contrary, you will love her ;-what will then become of your quixotic determination to resign her, when all things are in your favor?"

uncle's: his daughter is as dear to him as life itself, but he will sacrifice even her on that ruthless altar, sooner than see her wed one so obscurely born as Grey. Why, every drop of his proud blood boils at the bare suggestion of the son of his former overseer daring to raise his eyes to his lovely child. But 'tis idle to speak of the future, for you must be guided by events, and above all things, endeavor to obtain the good will of your uncle. He is all you have to depend on; and if he casts you off, you are undone. But here is the house before us, and I hear the voice of Gen. Montressor on the gallery calling a servant to take our horses."

The road wound through a long avenue of limes, with their white blossoms glittering in the bright moonlight. In a few moments they entered an extensive yard, shaded by groups of magnificent trees, through the branches of which glanced the columns and galleries of a splendid mansion. Two black servants took the horses of our travellers, and they were ushered into the house with a hearty welcome from its hospitable owner. He folded his nephew to his heart with much emotion, as he said,

"You are right welcome to my home, my dear boy. I have looked for you long and earnestly; and there is one other face, fairer and younger than mine, that has brightened at the news of your expected arrival, I promise you."

ck

"I should feel too much flattered, my dear sir, could I think for a moment that my cousin would

"I shall only love her as a brother, and as such feel pleased to hear that I am here." counsel and assist her."

"We shall see—we shall see," said the monk, shaking his head. "At your age such sentiments are natural, but wait until the heart speaks in favor of your own interests, and then decide on the course you will pursue."

"Pleased! the deuce! what-what do you mean, sir? She were no daughter of mine, if she were not delighted to welcome her own near relation to her father's roof. She expects you with pleasure; so go to her at once-no ceremony-you will find her a little pale and weak, as this hot weather has retarded her recovery from a spell of illness; but she knew you were to be here this evening, and requested to see you if you came before her hour of retiring. Here, Agnes," he continued, calling to a girl who was crossing the door at the moment, "show Mr. Montressor where to find your young lady."

"That course, under any circumstances, must still be the same. If I thought it would not, my prayer to heaven should be that the sod might press upon my breast ere a chill and blighting hand be laid on it, withering the noble aspirations which give us assurance that we claim some affinity with beings of a higher order. Father," continued he, earnestly, "I would not lose the consciousness of having acted as a man of honor and feeling should do, for this whole island and all the wealth that it contains. I prize my own selfrespect beyond my uncle's riches:-the love of his daughter is not hers to give; and I should deem myself a spiritless wretch, could I ask Lucile to bestow on me the hand which should only accom-clined his cousin. Victor started as his eye fell pany her heart. No! all my efforts shall be used to induce my uncle to receive Sidney Grey as his son."

"And all your influence be unavailing. I tell you, were all the pride of all the Howards condensed in one single form, that form were your

Victor followed the girl across a wide hall, into a spacious room decorated with busts, pictures, and flowers: the furniture was of the lightest and most elegant description, and as he glanced around, he thought it a fitting sanctuary for the young and lovely occupant. The windows all opened to the floor, and near one of them, on a low couch, re

on the wan, yet still beautiful features of Lucile. A loose dress of embroidered muslin enfolded her slight figure, and it was scarcely whiter than the cheek of its wearer: her hair was put back from her brow, and spread over the pillows, as if the weight of it was more than the throbbing temples

could sustain. A faint flush tinged her cheek, as | ther's prohibition-dwelt on his obligations to him, Victor kneeled beside the couch, and taking her and ended by the assurance of unwavering affecpale, thin hand in his, said—

"I dreamed not, dearest cousin, that you had been so ill as your appearance denotes. I am here to fulfil your behests. The humblest slave your father claims, is not more ready to do your pleasure. Can the dread of me have reduced you to the state I find you in?"

"Ah, no! not altogether that," murmured Lucile, " yet I knew you not-you might require the fulfilment of the bond; and my father relents not. Forgive me, dear cousin-you have taken a weight from my heart which was crushing me to the grave. I have been very ill--and very, very unhappy. You have my letter?"

"Yes-and my heart thanked you for your confidence. I will prove myself worthy of it: I will endeavor to win the esteem and affection of your father, and then use my influence to gain his consent to your-"

tion for myself. He has left us-refused all further assistance from my father, and is seeking his subsistence in Havana as a portrait painter. He fondly hopes to acquire a competence within a few years, and then win me to be his. For myself I cherish no such delusion. In the years that must intervene before such a result can rationally be hoped for, the remembrance of his early dream of romance will have been effaced by the stirring realities of life, and the springing up of that ambition which ever accompanies a high order of genius: while my woman's heart will exult in his fame, and feel that it casts a reflected lustre on myself, he will scarcely revert to the being who gave to him the life, the freshness, the energy of undisciplined feeling. Yet why should I grieve? It is the destiny of my sex-neglect-forgetfulness, is too often the meed of woman's lavished affections, and mine will be no uncommon lot."

She spoke calmly, but the tears forced them

drops on the hand that still clasped her own. Deeply, too deeply for his own peace, did Victor sympathize with the suffering those tears denoted.

After a few moments, she slowly murmured a quotation from a writer she admired much— "What is the love of restless, roving man?—a vagrant stream that dallies for a time with each flower on its banks, then passes on and leaves them all in tears.' Ah! how true! Leave me now, dear Victor; I am weary and over excited-to

"That were a hopeless task," interrupted Lucile. "You will only embitter him against your-selves from her closed eyelids, and rolled in large self, by making the attempt. No--all I ask is the liberty of remaining as I am, with the sad privilege of thinking on the past, and consecrating in my heart the image which has so long reigned there. I know that without my father's sanction I cannot marry Sidney, for he is poor, and I am too helpless to share the lot of one destitute of the gifts of fortune. I could not bear to entail on him the curse of genius struggling not only with poverty, but the misery, the privations to which I should be exposed, would cause him. No, Vic-morrow I will see you again.” tor, I cannot be his wife, but I can still glory in his genius; and when the meed of fame is awarded to his talents, I can say in the deepest recesses of my heart, 'he was worthy of the love I bestowed on him,' and no other shall possess the right to reproach me for the thought.”

"What would I not give for such love!" thought the youth, as he gazed on the pale cheek lit up by the passing glow of excited feeling. "Ah, sweet Lucile, why did you give the priceless gem of your affections to one who can never call you his? I must keep strict watch over my heart, or it will prompt me to act the traitor to my principles. Tell me, sweet cousin," he continued, aloud, "where Mr. Grey is to be found? I have a great desire to cultivate his acquaintance."

"He is in Havana, I believe," said Lucile, in a low voice. "I have not seen him since that dreadful night when my father learned that we were attached to each other. During my long illness his name was never mentioned, though my ear thirsted for the sound, and my heart grew sick as each day closed and no token of remembrance came from him. I did hear at last: he wrote me such a letter as soothed my wounded feelings and reconciled me to our lot. He spoke of my fa

CHAPTER. V

The clouds from off thy pinions flinging
As though they bore to-morrow's light.

*

*

*

*

Why in this furnace is my spirit proved

Like steel in tempering fire? because I loved?
Because I loved, what not to love and see,

Was more or less than mortal, and than me.

Byron.

Alone, in a lofty and spacious apartment, sat the young painter. His cheek was thin and pale, but his eye flashed with the brightness of undimmed hope. He was at work on a picture, which he fondly anticipated would give him such a reputation as would insure him the competence he so ardently desired to acquire.

A few weeks before, a stranger had called on him and described a scene which he wished him to paint-the principal actors in it were sketched with such minuteness, that Grey had little difficulty in transferring the likeness to his canvass, and the scene which the stranger desired to see represented, was rapidly growing beneath his hand.

It was a night scene: an old castle partially in