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road through the trackless ways of the sea, and come to the designed ports by the uncertain impulse of the winds: that we rightly cast up our accounts, do business expeditiously, dispose, tabulate, and calculate scattered ranks of numbers, and easily compute them, though expressive of huge heaps of sand, nay immense hills of atoms: that we make pacific separations of the bounds of lands, examine the moments of weights in an equal balance, and distribute every one his own by a just measure: that with a light touch we thrust forward vast bodies which way we will and stop a huge resistance with a very small force that we accurately delineate the face of this earthly orb, and subject the economy of the universe to our sight: that we aptly digest the flowing series of time, distinguish what is acted by due intervals, rightly account and discern the various returns of the seasons, the stated periods of years and months, the alternate increments of days and nights, the doubtful limits of light and shadow, and the exact differences of hours and minutes; that we derive the subtle virtue of the solar rays to our uses, infinitely extend the sphere of sight, enlarge the near appearances of things, bring to hand things remote, discover things hidden, search nature out of her concealments, and unfold her dark mysteries; that we delight our eyes with beautiful images, cunningly imitate the devices and portray the works of nature; imitate, did I say? nay excel, while we form to ourselves things not in being, exhibit things absent, and represent things past that we recreate our minds and delight our ears with melodious sounds, attemperate the inconstant undulations of the air to musical tunes, add a pleasant voice to a sapless log, and draw a sweet eloquence from a rigid metal; celebrate our Maker with an harmonious praise, and not unaptly imitate the blessed choirs of Heaven: that we approach and examine the inaccessible seats of the clouds, the distant tracts of land, unfrequented paths of the sea; lofty tops of the mountains, low bottoms of the valleys, and deep gulphs of the ocean: that in heart we advance to the saints themselves above, yea draw them to us, scale the etherial towers, freely range through the celestial fields, measure the magnitudes, and determine the interstices of the stars, prescribe inviolable laws to the Heavens themselves, and confine the wandering circuits of the stars within strict bounds: lastly, that we comprehend the huge fabric of the universe, 'admire and contemplate the wonderful beauty of the divine workmanship, and so learn the incredible force and sagacity of our own minds, by certain experiments, as to acknowledge the blessings of Heaven with a pious affection." All this, and infinitely more, we owe to science.

For what, then, do I contend, when I thus extol the Belles Lettres? I CONTEND THAT THE SCIENCES SHOULD NOT SUPERSEDE THE BELLES LETTRES, AS THEY ARE THE BEST

FOUNDATION ON WHICH TO BUILD THE SCIENCES. I CONTEND THAT THE STUDY OF THE SCIENCES SHOULD BE POSTPONED UNTIL A CONSIDERABLE PROFICIENCY HAS

BEEN MADE IN CLASSICAL LEARNING. I urge an attention to the Belles Lettres the more earnestly, because it appears that, in imitation of the French, especially since the revolution, the sciences which Bonaparte encouraged, (chiefly for the sake of raising engineers, gunners, surgeons, and all the other descriptions of people who assist in sieges and the work of slaughter,) are becoming, in England, the fashionable study, to the exclusion, or at least the comparative neglect, of polite literature. A change much to be lamented; because the Belles Lettres embellish all they touch. The muses, that preside over the Belles Lettres, scatter roses among the thorns of difficult and abstruse disquisition; they smooth the asperities, and diffuse a sunshine over the gloomiest passages, of scholastic philosophy. All books which become favorites with the people, and continue to be popular, must have a grace, which I have already expressed by the word AMENITY; a smiling aspect, like the view of a beautiful country in the vernal season, illumined by the morning sunshine: and the amenity of books must result from a certain insinuation of style, a certain ease and polish, a certain delicacy of address, which teaches, without assuming the tone of instruction, and conveys the idea of deference and respect for the reader; while, by the solidity of the reasoning which it preserves, and the value of the knowledge which it imparts, it secures a coincidence of opinion, or produces conviction. Books of science are often destitute of these ornaments; and consequently soon fall into undeserved neglect or oblivion. Few of them have ever become classical. Buffon is a remarkable instance of the advantage which science derives from eloquence; he adds the graces of style to the accuracy of science: his pen may be justly called a pencil; for he delineates in the most attractive form, and paints whatever he touches with the most vivid and appropriate color: his science is the gold; his humanities shaped the image and stamped the superscription which gave it currency all over the civilized uni

verse.

Malebranche,' who is generally classed with Locke, is still read with pleasure; because he illumined the gloomy path of metaphysics with the lustre of rhetorical coloring, or the ornaments of polite literature. Locke is comparatively dull and neglected, because he enlivened not his gravity with the embellishments of language and a warm imagination. From the heights of philosophy,

L'un des plus profonds méditatifs qui aient jamais écrit: animé de cette imagination forte qui fait plus disciples que la verité. VOLTAIRE.

he looked down with scorn on the seducing arts of rhetoric, which he probably considered as wholly meretricious. Malebranche led his reader through labyrinths; but then he cheered the progress by occasionally letting in the sunshine, and by turning aside, and stooping to cull flowers as he sojourned in the desert.

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Silver and gold, indeed, must always retain their intrinsic value; but we do not use them as embellishments of our persons, or of our tables, till the Dedalean hand of the artist has given fashion to the ore. The vehicle in which the salutary draught is administered, must be pleasant, or the fastidious patient will reject it. To render a work popular, imagery must be painted, and sentiments of agreeable kind excited. Interest must be awakened by feeling and by fancy. Variety of tones, images, colors, is necessary to prevent the tedium of a scientific system, and to draw along the mind through the mazes of disquisition, in spite of the reluctance which is ever felt when labor is required without absolute necessity, or the recompense of pleasure.

One book of science supplants another, and they successively drop, when new discoveries are made, as mere waste paper, into the gulf of oblivion; but on works truly classical, time has lost its destroying power. Time only makes us more sensible of the beauty of works which apply to the feelings and imagination, as well as to the severity of reason. The fame of Milton has been rising ever since he first sold his copy of Paradise Lost for five pounds, and was neglected, reviled, calumniated,—and immortalized!

But it is said, that to allow a superiority, in any respect, to the Belles Lettres over the sciences, is to prefer the agreeable to the useful, and to value the blossoni of the spring, more than the fruit of autumn. But we know that the blossom must precede the fruit; and that, in the vernal season, when the eastern blast prevails, particular attention must be paid to its protection from the worm and the caterpillar. Human life, indeed, is such, that whatever is innocently agreeable, is on that very account, useful. If we must form our estimate of things, from the greater or less degree of utility, according to the vulgar idea of it, then, indeed, the ploughman will take precedence of the astronomer, and the plough of the telescope. The Belles Lettres have contributed more than the sciences, to civilize whole nations, and to humanize the rough and rustic provincials, at a distance from capitals, in nations already civilized: they are, indeed, as the harp of Orpheus, capable of reclaiming the barbarian, and soothing the savage, by the melody of eloquence.

There prevails, it is true, an unfortunate loquacity, without eloquence, and a disgusting assurance, without solidity; but true

eloquence is the genuine result of polite literature. And of what infinite importance is the power of instructing and persuading by the faculty of speech! Religion is taught by eloquence; and morality borrows its aid to combat error and vice, to give additional strength and effect to truth, and to add to the beauty of rectitude. No where more than in the church are required the graces both of eloquence and elocution: all the powers of reasoning and rhetoric combined, are necessary to recommend the practice of virtue we are to persuade, as well as to teach, to engage the will, as well as inform the understanding, in the lessons of the sanctuary. All the beauties of composition and charms of language, with all the force of oratory, should be employed to induce men to practise what they acknowledge to be their duty. A full conviction of the truth, we find, is not enough, unless the affections are won over to its side. The senate, the pulpit, the bar, are all indebted for their greatest honors to eloquence. And there is also an eloquence of conversation, displayed at the convivial board; a feast of reason, abounding with choicest dainties, culled from the muse's store; and who will deny that the muse's store is originally supplied from the grammar school?

While we are speaking of eloquence, it is delightful to recollect, for the honor of the Belles Lettres, with what solicitude some of our favorite classics insist on the inseparable union of virtue with eloquence. Cicero himself describes an orator as "Vir bonus dicendi peritus," a good man skilled in eloquence; and the excellent Quintilian requires goodness as an indispensable requisite in the cha"racter of an orator; he does not enlarge more earnestly on the necessity of genius or talent, than of honesty, integrity, and an unspotted character. And, indeed, nothing contributes so much to persuade even the bad man, as an opinion, that he who is attempting to persuade him, is himself good and speaks without guile,

But this admirable description of a true orator, which reflects so much glory on our classical literature, and so usefully inculcates a fine moral, has a more comprehensive signification than it presents at first view; since it may, by strict analogy, be applied not only to the orator but to the poet, the philosopher, even the novel and dramatic writer; and indeed to every one who ventures to offer his thoughts and sentiments to public notice. There is no one, who, when he invites the world to participate in the fruits of his studies, either as a public speaker or writer, but is under an obligation, as an honest citizen, to present nothing to public view, but what is, at least, perfectly innocuous. Of this point every man should be certain, before he sends into the world that which when once emitted, can never return, and which may do good or harm beyond all calculation. The Belles Letters, which

we praise so much, when employed to decorate a work injurious to the morals of a people, are but as the paint and varnish on the visage of a sallow, haggard, loathsome, courtesan! A good man, when he leaves his retirement and steps forward, as an author, may indeed recommend his work to notice by every ornament which the humanities supply; but at the same time, he is bound to employ all the talent natural or acquired, which he possesses, in diminishing as far as his influence extends, and his power permits, all moral evil, aud in promoting all moral good; for moral evil is the bane of human happiness, and moral good its most copious source, and firmest security. The charms of the Belles Lettres acquire au infinite augmentation both of beauty and value, when they are auxiliary to the cause of truth, and when displayed in all their lustre, to invite poor erring mortals from the rough roads of passion, folly, and vice, to that wisdom "all whose ways are pleasantness, and all whose paths are peace." To effect this grand purpose, is greatly in the power of those classical excellencies of style and manner, to the attainment of which our old grammar schools directly lead; when they are conducted on the plan laid down by founders, whose piety was as sincere, and whose wisdom as sound, as their bounty was large. "Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report, if there be any virtue, if there be any praise," they are taught under these roofs, where unnumbered disciples have been daily accustomed to "think of these things." And many of them "thinking of these things," have been at length qualified to go forth into the world, as a "great company of preachers; as men giving counsel by their understanding, and declaring prophecies; leaders of the people by their counsels, and by their knowledge of learning meet for the people; wise and ELOQUENT in their instructions, honored in their generations, and the glory of their times; the people tell of their wisdom, and the congregation show forth their praise.

The man of letters then, in whatever mode he exerts his abilities for public view, whether serious or comic, is required by these great masters of rhetoric, to be a GOOD MAN; a man of right feelings, and of honest and benevolent principles, as well as of an understanding cultivated, and a taste refined by the study of the most beautiful models of composition. To instruct mankind is a high and noble office. Conscious of its dignity, a good man (as these ancient authors teach us,) will sacrifice all empty fame, and vain applause, to discharge it faithfully. A good man, no less atatched to truth and beauty in morals than in arts, will neglect no or

Philipp. iv. 8. 2 Ecclesiasticus xliii. 3, 4. 7.