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Continued from frst page. relation to their first cause; for in doing this, they are seen to partake somewhat of the natuie of that Being on whom they depend. We make no approaches to a conception of it? by heaping da\ upon day or vaar upon year. 1 his is meielv an accumulation of time ; and we might as well at tempt to convey an idea of mental greatness by that [factual space, as to communicate a concep tion ot eternity by years or thousands ol \ecirs-. Mind and matter are not more distinct from each other than their properties; and by an attempt to embrace all time, we are actually farther from an approach to eternity than w hen we coniine our selves to a single instant; because we merely col lect the largest possible amount ot natural changes, whereas that which is eternal approaches that which This resembles the attempt to ascend to heaven by means ot the tower oh Babel, in which they were removed by their pride from that which they woud ha\e ap proached, precisely in proportion to their appa rent progress. It is impossible to conceive ol either time or space without matter. Ihe reason is, they are the effect ot matter; and as it is bv creating matter that they are produced, so it is by thinking of it that they are conceived 01. It need not be said how exceedingly improper it is to ap ply the usual ideas of time and space to the Di vine Being ; making him subject to mat which he creates. Still our conceptions ot time, of hours, days or years, are among the most vivid we possess, and w r e neither wish nor find it easy to call them in question. We are satisfied with the fact, that time is indicated on the face of the watch, with out seeking for it among the wheels and machi nery. But what is the idea of a year ? Every natural change that comes under our observation leaves a corresponding impression on the mind ; and the sum of the changes which come under a single revolution of the earth round the sun, conveys the impression of a year. Accordingly, we find that our idea ot a year is continually changing, as the mind becomes conversant witn different objects, and is susceptible of different impressions ; and the days of the old man, as they draw near their close seem to gather rapidity from their approach to the other world. We have all experienced the effect ot pleasure and pain in accelerating and retarding the passing moments; and since our feelings are constantly changing, we have no reason to doubt that they constantly produce a similar effect, though it may not be often noticed. The divisions’ ot time, then, however real they may seem to be, and however well they may serve the common pur poses of conversation, cannot be supposed to convey the same impression to any two minds, nor to any one mind in different periods of its ex istence. Indeed, unless this w T ere the fact, all artificial modes of keeping it, w T onld be unneces sary. Time, then, is nothing real so far as it ex ists in our own minds. Nor do we find a nearer approach to reality by any analysis of nature. Everything, as was said, is subject to change, and one change pre pares the way for another ; by which there is growth and decay. There are also motions of the bodies, both in nature and art, which in their operation observe fixed laws ; and here we end. The more we enter into an analysis of things, the farther are we from finding anything that an swers to the distinctness and reality which are usually attached to a conception of time, and there is reason to believe that when this distinct ness and reality are most deeply rooted, (what ever may be the theory,) they are uniformly attended with a practical belief of the actual motion of the sun, and are indeed the effect of it. Let us then continue to talk of time, as we talk of the rising and setting of the sun ; but let us think rather of those changes in their origin and effect, from which a sense of time is produced. This will carry us one degree nearer the actual condition of ihings ; it will admit us one step further into the temple of creation — no longer a temple created six thousand years ago, and deserted by him who formed it ; but a temple with the hand of the builder resting upon it; perpetually renewing, perpetually creating— and as w r e bow ourselves to worship the “I AM,” “Him who liveth forever and ever, who created heaven and the things that are therein, and the earth and the things that are therein, and the sea and the things that are therein,” we mav hear m accents of divine love the voice that proclaims “ that their shall be time no longer.” It is not the living productions of nature, by which the strongest impression of time is pro duced. The oak, over which may have passed a hundred years, seems to drive from our minds the impression of time, by the same pow er by which it supports its own life, and resists every tendency to decay. It is that which is decayed, though it may have been the offspring of an hour ; it is the ruined castle mouldering into dust, still more, it the contrast be strengthened by its being covered w r ith the living productions of na ture ; it is the half-consumed remains of some animal once strong and vigorous, the discoveries .of the undertaker, or the filthy relics of the cata comb, by which the strongest impression of time is conveyed. So it is with the possessions of the mind. It is that which is not used, w hich seems farthest in the memory, and which is held by the most doubtful tenure ; that which is suffered to waste and decay because it w ants the life of our ow n affections; that which we are about to lo>e, because it does not properly belong to us ; where as that truth, which is applied to the use and ser vice of mankind, acquires a higher polish the more it is thus employed, like the angels of heav en, who forever approximate to a state ot perfect I youth, beauty, and innocence. It is not a useless task, then, to remove from our minds the usual ideas ot time, and cultivate a memory of things. It is to leave the mind in the healthy, vigorous and active possession of all its attainments, and ex ercise of all its powers; it is to remove from it? that only which contains the seeds of decay and putrifaction ; to separate the living from the dead ; to take from it the veil by which it would avoid the direct presence of Jehovah, and preserve its own possessions without using them. Truth, all truth, is practical. It is impossible, from its nature and origin, that it should be other wise. Whether its effect be directly to change the conduct, or it simply leave an impression on the heart, it is in the strictest sense, practical. It should rather be our desire to use what we learn, than to remember it. If we desire to use it, we shall remember it of course; if we wish merely to remember, it is possible we may never use it. It is the tendency of all truth to effect some object. If we look at tins object, it w ill form a distinct and permanent image on the mind; if we look merely at the truth, it will vanish away, like rays of light falling into vacancy. Keeping in view what has been said on the sub ject of time, then, the mind is presented to us, as not merely active in the acquirement ot truth but active in its possession. The memory is the fire of the vestal virgins, sending forth perpetual lioht; not the grave which preserves simply because annihilation is impossible. The reser voir of knowledge should be seated in the af fections, sending forth its influence throughout the mind, and terminating in word and deed, if I may be allowed the expression, merely because its channels and outlets are situated below the water mark. There prevails a most erroneous senti ment, that the mind is originally vacant, and re quires only to be filled up ; and there is reason to believe, that this opinion is most intimately connected with false conceptions of time. The mind is originally a most delicate germ, whose husk is the body : planted in this world, that the light and beat of heaven may fall upon it with a gentle radiance, and call forth its energies. The process of learning is not by synthesis, or analy sis. It is the most perfect illustration of both.— As subjects are presented to the operation of the mind, they are decomposed and reorganized in a manner peculiar to itself, and not easily explained. Another object of the preceding remarks upon time, is that we may be impressed with the imme diate presence and agency of God, without which a correct understanding of mind or matter can never be attained ; that we mav be able to read on every power of the mind, and on every particle of matter, the language of our Lord, “My Father worketh hitherto, and I work.” We usually put the Divine Being to an immense distance, by sup posing that the world was created many years ago, and subject to certain laws, by which it has since been governed. We find ourselves capable of con structing machines, which move on without our assistance, and imagine that the world was con structed in the same way. We forget that the motions of our machines depend on the uniform operation of what we call the laws of nature ; and that there can be nothing beyond, on which these depend, unless it be the agency of that Be ing from whom they exist. The pendulum of the clock continues to move from the uniform ope ration of gravitation. It is no explanation, to say that it is a law of our machinery that the pendu lum should move. We simply place things in a situation to be acted upon by an all-pervading power ; but what all-pervading power is there by which gravitation is itself produced, unless it be the power of God ? The tendency of bodies to the earth, is some thing with which from our childhood we have been so familiar; something which we have re garded so much as a cause, since, in a certain sense, it is the cause of all the motions with which we are acquainted ; that it is not agreeable to our habits of thinking, to look at it as an effect. Even the motions of the heavenly bodies seem completely accounted for, by simply ex tending to these phenomena, the feelings with which we have been accustomed to regard the tendency of bodies to the earth ; whereas, if the two things were communicated at the same pe riod of life, they would appear equally wonder ful. An event appears to be explained, when it is brought within the pale of those youthful feel ings and associations, which in their simplicity do not ask the reason of things. There i-s formed in the mind of the child, from his most familiar observations, however imperfect they ma} T be, as it were a little nucleus, which serves as the ba sis of his future progress. This usually com prises a large proportion of those natural appear ances, which the philosopher in later periods of life finds it most difficult to explain. The child grows up in his Father’s house, and collects and arranges the most familiar operations and events. Into this collection he afterwards receives what ever history or science may communicate, and still feels at home; a feeling with which wonder is never associated. This is not altogether as it should be. It is natural for the mature mind to ask the cause of things. It is unsatisfied when it does not find one, and can hardly exclude the thought of that Being, from whom all things exists. When there fore we have gone beyond the circle of youthful knowledge, and found a phenomenon in nature which in its insulated state fills us with the ad miration of God ; let us beware how we quench this feeling. Let us rather transfer something of this admiration to those phenomena ol the same class, which have not hitherto directed our minds beyond the fact of their actual existence. As the mind extends the boundaries ol its know ledge, let a holy reference to God descend into its youthful treasures. That light which in the distance seemed to be a miraculous blaze, .as it falls on our own native hills may still seem divine, but will not surprise us ; and a sense ol the con stant presence of God will be happily blended with the most perfect freedom. Till the time of Newton, the motion of the heavenly bodies was indeed a miracle. It was an event which stood alone, and w r as probably regarded with peculiar reference to the Divine Being. The feeling of worship with which they had previously been regarded, had subsided into a feeling of wonder ; till at length they were re ceived into the family of our most familiar asso ciations. There is one step further. It is to re gard gravitation, wherever it may be found, as an effect of the constant agency of the Divine Being, and from a consciousness of his presence and co-operation in every step we take, literally, “to walk humbly with our God.” It is agreeable to the laws of moral and intellectual progression, that all phenomena, whether of matter or mind, should become gradually classified ; till at length all things, wherever they are found ; all events, whether of history or experience, of mind or matter ; shall at once conspire to form one stu pendous miracle, and cease to be such. They will form a miracle, in that they are seen to de pend constantly and equally on the power of the Lord; and they will cease to be a miracle, in that the power which pervades them, is so constant, so uniform, and so mild in its operation, that it produces nothing of fear, nothing ot surprise. From whatever point we contemplate the scene, we feel that we are still in our Father’s house ; go where we will, the paternal roof, the broad canopy of heaven, is extended over us. It is agreeable to our nature, that the mind should be particularly determined to one object. The eye appears to be the point at which the united rays of the sun within and the sun with out, converge to an expression of unity ; and ac cordingly the understanding can be conscious of but one idea or image at a time. Still there is another and a different kind of consciousness which pervades the mind, which is co-extensive with every thing it actually possesses. There is but one object in nature on which the eye looks directly, but the whole body is pervaded with nerves which convey perpetual information of the existence and condition of every part. So it is with the possessions of the mind ; and when an object ceases to be the subject of this kind of consciousness, it ceases to be remembered. The memory therefore, as was said, is not a dormant, / 4k, but an active power. It is rather the possession than the retention of truth. It is a consciousness of the will; a consciousness of character; a con sciousness which is produced by the mind’s pre serving in effort, whatever it actually possesses. It is the power which the mind has of preserving truth, without actually making it the subject ol thought ; bearing a relation to thought, analo gous to what this bears to the actual perception of the senses, or to language. Thus we remem ber a distant object without actually thinking of it, in the same way that we think of it, without actually seeing it. The memory is not limited, because to the af fections, viewed simply as such, number is not applicable. They become distinct and are classi fied, when connected with truth, or, from being developed, are applied to their proper objects.— Love may be increased, but not multiplied. A man may feel intensely, and the quantity and quality of his feeling may affect the character ol his thought, but still it preserves its unity. The most ardent love is not attended with more than one idea, but on the contrary has a tendency to confine the mind to a single object. Every one must have remarked, that a peculiar state of feel ing belongs to every exercise of the understand ing ; unless somewhat of this feeling remained after the thought had passed away, there would be nothing whereby the latter could be recalled. The impression thus left, exists continually in the mind ; though, as different objects engage the at tention, it may become less vivid. These im pressions go to comprise the character of an in dividual ; especially when they have acquired a reality and fixedness, in consequence of the feel ings in which they originated, having resulted in the actions to which they tend. They enter into every subject about which we are thinking, and the particular modification they receive from that subject gives them the appearance of individu ality ; while they leave on the subject itself, the image of that character which they constitute.— \\ hen a man has become acquainted with any science, that stale of the affections which proper ly belongs to this science, (whatever direction his mind may take afterwards,) still maintains a cer tain influence ; and this influence is the creative power by which his knowledge on the subject is re-produced. Such impressions are to the mind, what logarithms are in numbers ; preserving our knowledge in its fulness indeed, but before it has expanded into an infinite variety of thoughts.- Brown remarks, “we will the existence ol cer tain ideas, it is said, and they arise in conse quence of our volition ; though assuredly to will any idea is to know that we will, and therefore to be conscious of that very idea, which we surely need not desire to know, when we already know it so well as to will its actual existence.” The author does not discriminate between looking at an object and thence desiring it, and simply that condition of feeling between which and certain thoughts there is an established relation, so that the former cannot exist to any considerable de gree without producing the latter. Ol this exer tion of the will, every one must have been con jscious in his efforts of recollection. Os this ex ertion of the will, the priest must be conscious, when, (if he be sincere,) by the simple prostra tion of his heart before his maker, his mind is crowded with the thoughts and language of prayer. Os this exertion of the will, the poet must be conscious, when he makes bare his bo som for the reception of nature, and presents her breathing with his own life and soul: But it is needless to illustrate that ol which every one must be sensible. It follows from these views of the subject, that the true w r ay to store the memory is to develop the affections. The mind must grow, not from external accretion, but from an internal principle. Much may be done by others in aid ot its devel opment ; but in all that is done, it should not be forgotten, that even from its earliest infancy, it possesses a character and a principle of freedom, which should be lespected, and cannot be destroyed. Its peculiar propensities may be discerned, and proper nutriment and culture supplied ; but the infant plant, not less than the aged tree, must be permitted, with its own organs ol absorption, to separate that which is peculiarly adapted to itself; otherwise it will be castoff as a foreign substance, or produce nothing but rottenness and deformity. ff’he science of the mind itself will be the effect of its own development. This is merely an at tendant consciousness, which the mind possesses, of the growth of its own powers; and therefore, it wotild seem, need not be made a distinct object of study.. Thus the power of reason may be im perceptibly developed by the study ot the demon strative sciences. As it is developed, the pupil becomes conscious of its existence and its use. This is enough. He can in fact learn nothing more on the subject. If he learns to use his reason, what more is desired? Surely it were useless, and worse than useless, to shut up the door of the senses, and live in indolent and laborious con templation of one’s own powers; when, if any thing is learned truly, it must be what these pow ers are, and therefore that they ought not to be thus employed. The best affections we posses? will find their home in the objects around us, and, as it were, enter into and animate the whole rational, animal, and vegetable world. If the eve were turned inward to a direct contempla tion of these affections, it would find them be reft of all their loveliness; for when they are active, it is not of them we are thinking, but ot the objects on which they rest. The science of the mind, then, will be the effect of all the other sciences. Can the child grow up in active use fulness, and not be conscious of the possession and use of his own limbs? The body and the mind should grow together, and form the sound and perfect man, whose understanding may be almost measured by his stature. The mind will see itself'in what it loves and is able to accom plish. Its own works will be its mirror ; and when it is present in the natural world, feeling the same spirit which gives life to every object by which it is surrounded, in its very union with nature it will catch a glimpse of itself, like that ol pristine beauty united with innocence, at her own native fountain. What then is that development which the na ture of the human mind requires? What is that education which has heaven for its object, and such a heaven as will be the effect of the orderly growth ol the spiritual man ? As all minds possess that in common which makes them human, they require to a certain ex tent the same general development, by which will be brougot to view the same powers, how ever distinct and varied they may be found in different individuals; and as every mind possesses something peculiar, to which it owes its character and its effect, it requires a particular develop ment by which may be produced a full, sincere, and humble expression of its natural features, and the most vigorous and efficient exertion of its natural powers. These make one, so far as re gards the individual. Those sciences which exist embodied in the natural world, appear to have been designed to occupy the first place in the development of all minds, or in that which might be called the gen eral development of the mind. These comprise the laws ot the animal, vegetable and mineral kingdoms. The human mind, being as it were planted in nature by its heavenly Father, was designed to enter into matter, and detect know ledge, for its own purposes of growth and nutri tion. This gives us a true idea of memory, or rather of what memory should be. We no longer think of a truth as being laid up in a mind for which it has no affinity, and by which it is per- To be Continued in our next .