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OBSERVATIONS 05 THE GROWTH OF THE MIND. BY SAMPSON REED. Continued. haps never to be used ; but the latent affections, as they expand under proper culture, absolutely re quire the truth to receiye them, and its first use is the very nutriment it affords. It is not more diffi cult for the tree to return to the seed from which it sprung, than for the man who has learned thus, to cease to remember. The natural sciences are the basis of all useful knowledge, alike important to man in whatever time, place or condition he is found. They are coeval with our race, and must continue so long as the sun, moon and stars endure. Before there were facts for the pen of history to record, or vices for the arm of law to restrain, or nations for the exhibition of institu tions for the government of themselves and in tercourse with each other, at the very creation, these were pronounced good in the general bene diction ; and when history shall have finished her tale of sin and woe, and law shall have punished her millions of offenders, and civil society shall have assumed every possible form, they will re main the same as when presented in living char acters to the first parents of the human race. Natural philosophy seems almost essential to an enlightened independence of thought and ac tion. A man may lean upon others, and be so well supported by an equal pressure in all di rections, as to be apparently dependent on no one; but his independence is apt to degenerate into obstinacy, or betray itself in weakness, unless his mind is fixed on this unchanging basis. A know ledge of the world may give currency to his sen timents, and plausibility to his manners; but it is more frequently a knowledge of the world that gives light to the path, and stability to the pur poses. By the one he may learn what coin is current, by the other what possesses intrinsic val ue. The natural world was precisely and pcr fectlv adapted to invigorate and strengthen the intellectual and moral man. Its first and highest use was not to support the vegetables which adorn, or the animals which cover its surface ; nor yet to give sustenance to the human body ; —it has a higher and holier object, in the attainment of which these are only means. It was intended to draw forth and mature the latent energies of the soul; to impart to them its own verdure and freshness ; to initiate them into its own mysteries ; and by its silent and humble dependence on its Creator, to leave on them, when it is withdrawn by death, the full impression of his likeness. It was the design of Providence, that the in fant mind should possess the germ of every scienee. If it were not so, they could hardly be learned. The care of God provides for the flow er of the field a place wherein it may grow, re gale with its fragance, and delight with its beauty. Is his providence less active over those to whom this flower offers its incense ? No. The soil which produces the wine in its most healthy lux uriance is not better adapted to the end, than the world we inhabit to draw forth the latent energies of the soul, and fill them with life and vigor.—As well might the eye see without light, or the ear hear without sound, as the human mind be healthy and athletic without descending into the natural world and breathing the mountain air. Is there ought in eloquence, which warms the heart? — She draws her fire from natural imagery. Is there aught in poetry, to enliven the imagination ? There is the secret of all her power. Is there ought in science to add strength and dignity to the human mind? The natural world is only the body, of which she is the soul. In books, science is presented to the eye of the pupil, as it were in a dried and preserved state ; the time may come when the instructor will take him by the hand, and lead him by the running streams, and teach him all the principles of science as she comes from her Maker, as he would smell the fragrance of the rose without gathering it. This love of nature, this adaptation of man to the place assigned him by his heavenly Father, this fulness of the mind as it descends into the works of God, is something which has been felt by every one, though to an imperfect degree ; and therefore needs no explanation. It is the part of science, that this be no longer a blind tif fection ; but that the mind be opened to a just perception of what it is which it loves. The af fection which the lover first feels for his future wife, may be attended only by a general sense of her external beauty; but his mind gradually opens to a perception of the peculiar features of the soul, of which the external appearance is only an image. So it is with nature. Do we love to gaze on the sun, the moon, the stars, and the planets? This affection contains in its bosom the whole science ot astronomy, as the seed con tains the future tree. It is the” office of the in structor to give it an existence and a name, by making known the laws which govern the mo tions of the heavenly bodies, the relation of these bodies te each other, and their uses. Have we felt delight in beholding the animal creation, in watching their pastimes and their labors? It is the office of the instructer to give birth to this af fection, by teaching the different classes of ani mals, with their peculiar characteristics, which inhabit the earth, air and sea. Have we known the inexpressible pleasure of beholding the beau ties of the vegetable world? This affection can onlv expand in the science ot botany. Thus it is that the love of nature in the mass, may be come the love of all the sciences, and the mind will grow and bring forth fruit from its own in herent power of development. Thus it is that memorv refers lo the growth and expansion ot the mind ; and what is thus, as it were, incmpo inted into its substance, can be forgotten only by a change m the direction of the affections, 01 t ic course of conduct of the individual analogous to that in his physical man, by which his very flesh and bones are exchanged for those of a different texture ; nor does he then entirely cease to re member, inasmuch as he preserves a sense of his own identity. fT) It is in this way the continual endeavor ot I res idence, that the natural sciences should be the spontaneous production of the human mind. I o these should certainly be added, poetry and mu sic ; for when we study the works of God as we should, we cannot disregard that inherent beauty and harmony in which these arts originate. These occasion in the mind its first glow of de light, like the taste of food, as it is offered to the mouth ; and the pleasure they afford, is a pledge of the strength and manhood afterwards imparted by the sciences. By poetry is meant all those illustrations of truth by natural imagery, which spring from the fact, that this world is the mirror of Him who made it. Strictly speaking, nothing has less to do with fiction than poetry. The day will come, and it may not be far distant when this art will have another test of merit than mere versification, or the invention of strange stories; when the laws by which poetry is tested will be as fixed and im mutable as the laws of science ; when a chango will be introduced into taste corresponding to that which Bacon introduced into philosophy, by which both will be confined within the limits of things as they actually exist. It would seem that genius would be cramped ; that the powers of in vention would be destroyed ; by confining the human mind, as it were, at home, within the bounds which nature has assigned. But what wider scope need it have? It reaches the throne of God; it rests on his footstool. All things spiritual and natural are before it. There is as much that is true as false ; and truth presented in natural imagery, is only dressed in the gar ments which God has given it. The imagination was permitted for ages to in volve the world in darkness, by putting theory in the place of fact; till at length the greatest man revealed the simplest truth, that our researches must be governed by actual observation. God is the source of all truth. Creation (and what truth does not result from creation ?) is the effect of the Divine Love and Wisdom. Simply to will and to think, with the Divine Being, result in creating ; in actually producing those realities, which form the ground work of the thoughts and affections of man. But for the philosopher to desire a thing, and to think that it existed, produced noth ing but his own theory. Hence it was necessary that he should bring his mind into coincidence with things as they exist, or, in other words, with the truth. Fiction in poetry must fall with theory in science, for they depend equally on the works of creation, The word fiction, however, is not in tended to be used in its most literal sense ; but to embrace whatever is not in exact agreement with the creative spirit of God. It belongs to the true poet to feel this spirit, and to be governed bv it; to be raised above the senses; to live and breathe in the inward efforts of things ; to feel the power of creation, even before he sees the effect ; to witness the innocence and smiles of nature’s in fancy, not by extending the imagination back to chaos, but by raising the soul to nature’s origin. The true poetic spirit, so far from misleading any, is the strongest bulwark against deception. It is the soul of science. Without it, the latter is a cheerless, heartless study, distrusting even the presence and power of Him to whom it owes its existence. Os all the poetry which exists, that only possesses the seal of immortality, which presents the image of God which is stamped on nature. Could the poetry which now prevails be viewed from the future, when all partialities and antipathies shall have passed away, and things are left to rest on their own foundations ; when good works shall have dwindled into insignifi cance, from the mass of useless matter that may have fallen from them, and bad ones shall have ceased to allure with false beauty ; we might catch a glimpse of the rudiments of this divine art, amid the weight of extraneous matter by which it is now protected, and which it is destined to throw off. The imagination will be refined into a chaste and sober view of unveiled nature. It will be confined within the bounds of reality. It will no longer lead the way to insanity and mad ness, by transcending the works of creation, and, as it were, wandering where God has no power to protect it; but finding a resting place in every created object, it will enter into it and explore its hidden treasures, the relation in which it stands to mind, and reveal the love it bears to its Crea tor. The state of poetry has always indicated the state of science and religion. The gods are hardly missed more, when removed from the temples of the ancients, than they are when ta ken from their poetry ; or than theory is, when taken from their philosophy. Fiction ceases to be pleasing when it ceases to gain credence ; and what they admired in itself, commands much o its admiration now, as a relic of antiquity, painting which in a darkened.room only impres sed us with the reality, as the sun rises upon it, discovers the marks ol the pencil , and that shade of the mind can never again return, which gave to ancient poetry its vividness and its power. Os this we may be sensible, by only considering how entirely powerless it would be, il poetry in all respects similar, were produced at the present day. A man’s religious sentiments, and his knowledge of the sciences, are so entirely inter woven with all his associations ; they shed such liidit throughout every region of the mind, that nothing can please which is directly opposed to them; —and though the forms which poetry may offer may sometimes be presented where this light begins to sink into obscurity, they should serve, like the sky and the clouds, as a relief to the eye, and not, like some unnatural body pro truding on the horizon, disturb the quiet they are intended to produce. When there ‘‘shall be a re ligion which shall see God in everything, and at all times; and the natural sciences, not less than nature itself, shall be regarded in connection with Him ; the fire of poetry will begin to be kindled in its immortal part, and will burn without con suming. The inspiration so often feigned, will become real, and the mind of the poet will feel the spark which passes from God to nature. The veil will be withdrawn, and beauty and innocence displayed to the eye ; for which the lascivious ness of the imagination and the wantonness ol desire may seek in vain. There is a language not of words, but of things. When this language shall have been made appa rent, that which is human will have answered its end ; and being as it were resolved into its origi nal elaments, will lose itself in nature. The use of language is the expression of our feelings and desires—the manifestation of the mind. But ev erything which is, whether animal or vegetable, is full of the expression of that use for which it is designed, as of its own existence. If we did but. understand its language, what could our words add to its meaning ? It is because we are un willing to hear, that we find it necessary to say X much ; and we drown the voice of nature with the discordant jargon of ten thousand dialects.— Let a man’s language be confined to the expres sion of that which actually 7 belongs to his own mind ; and let him respect the smallest blade which grows, and permit it to speak tor itself.— Then may there be poetry, which may not be written perhaps, but which may” be felt as a part of our being. Everything which surrounds us is full of the utterance of one word, completely 7 ex pressive of its nature. This word is its name ; for God, even now, could we but see it, is crea ting all things, and giving a name to every work of his love, in its perfect adaptation to that for which it is designed. But man has abused his power, and has become insensible to the real char acter of the brute creation ; still more so to that of inanimate nature, because, in his selfishness, he is disposed to reduce them to slavery. There fore he is deaf. We find the animal world either in a state of savage wildness, or enslaved submis sion. It is possible, that, as the character of man is changed, they may attain a midway condition equally removed from both. As the mind of man acknowledges its dependence on the Divine Mind, brutes may add to their instinct submission to human reason ; preserving an unbroken chain from our Father in Heaven, to the most inanimate parts of creation. Such may be supposed to have been the condition of the animal on which the King of Zion rode into Jerusalem ; at once free and subject to the will of the rider. Every thing will seem to be conscious of its use ; and man will become conscious of the use of every thing. It may be peculiar, and is said with deference to the opinions of others, but to my 7 ear, rhymes add nothing to poetry, but rather detract from its beauty 7 . They possess too strongly 7 the marks of art; and produce a sameness which tires, and sometimes disgusts. We seek for them in vain in nature, and may therefore reasonably presume that they spring out of the peculiar state of the public taste, without possessing any real founda tion in the mind itself; that they are rather the fashion of the dress than any 7 essential part. In the natural world we find nothing which answers to them, or feels like them, but a happy assem blage of living objects springing up, not in straight lines and at a fixed distance, but in God’s own or der, which by its apparent want of design, con veys the impression of perfect innocence and hu mility 7. It is not for that which is human to be completely divested of the marks of art ? but every approach towards this end, must be an ap proach towards perfection. The poet should be free and unshackled as the eagle ; whose wings, as he soars in the air, seems merely to serve the office of a helm, while he moves on simply by the agency 7 of the will. By music is meant not merely that which exists in the rational world, whether in the song of an gels or men ; not merely the singing of birds and the lowing of cattle, by” which the animal world express their affections and their wants —but that harmony which pervades also all orders of crea tion ; the music of the harp of universal nature, which is touched by the ray of the sun, and whose song is the morning, the evening and the seasons. Music is the voice of God, and poetry liis language, both in his Word and works. r rps,h f , one is to the ear, what the other is to the Every child of nature must feel their influence There was a time when the human mind was i n more perfect harmony with the Divine Mind, than the lower orders of creation ; and the taleofti le harp of Orpheus, to which the brutes, the bles, and the rocks listened, is not altogether un founded in reality; but when the selfish and worldly passions usurped the place of love to our God and our neighbor, the mind of man began to be mute in its praise. The original order was re versed. The very stones cry 7 out, and we do well to listen to them. There is a most intimate and almost insepera hle connection between poetry and music. This is indicated by the fact that they are alwavs uni ted. Nothing is sung which has not some pre tensions to poetry ; and nothing has any preten sions to poetry in which there is not something of music. A good ear is essential to rhythm ; and rhythm is essential to verse. It is the perfection of poetry, that it addresses two senses at once, the ear and the eye ; that it prepares the affec tions*for the object before it is presented ; that it sends light through the understanding, by forming a communication between the heart of man and the works of God. The character of music must have alway 7 s harmonized witli that of poetry. It is essential to the former that it should be in agree ment with our feelings ; for it is from this circum stance that it derives its power. That music which is in unison with the Divine Mind, alone deserves the name. So various is it found in the different conditions of man, that it is hardly re cognized as the same thing. There is music in the war-song of the savage, and in the sound for battle. Alas! bow unlike that music, which proclaimed peace on earth and good will towards men. Poetry and music, like virtuous females iu disguise, have followed our race into the darkest scenes to which the fall has brought them. We find them in the haunts of dissipation and vice ; in the song of revelry and lewdness. We meet them again, kindling the fire of devotion at the altar of God ; and find them more and more per fect as we approach their divine origin. There prevail at present two kinds of music, as diverse as their origins—profane and religious. The one is the result of the free, unrestrained ex pression of natural feelings; the other, of a kind which indicates that those feelings are placed un der restraint. In the one, there is often some thing of sensuality ; in the other, of sadness.— There is a point in moral improvement, in which the sensual will be subdued, and the sorrowful disappear ; which will combine the pleasure of the one with the sanctity of the other. When a sense of the presence of God shall he co-ex tensive with the thoughts of the mind, and reli gion shall consecrate every word and action of our lives, the song of Zion will be no longer sung in a strange land. The Divine Love, the soul and essence of music, will descend, not in the thunders of Sinai, but will seem to acquire volume, as it tunes the heart in uuison with itself, and the tongue in unison with the heart. The changes in the character of our music, which may be the effect of the gradual regeneration of the world, are hardly 7 within the reach of conjecture. Enough has been said to illustrate generally the influence of the natural world in the develop ment of the mind. The actual coudttion of so ciety operates to produce the same effect, with hardly less power. In this are comprised the re ligious and civil institutions of one’s own country; that peculiar character in which they originate; and a knowledge of the past, as, by disclosing the origin and progress of things, it throws light on the prospect actually before us. As the phi losophy connected with the natural world is that in which the mind may take root, by which it may possess an independence worthy 7 a being whose eternal destiny is in his own hands—so the moral and civil institutions, the actual condition ol society, is the atmosphere which surrounds and protects it; in which it sends forth its branches, an bears fruit. The spiritual part of man is as really a substance as the material ; and is as ca pable of acting upon spirit, as matter is upon matter. It is not from words of instruction and advice, that the mind of the infantderives its first impetus ; it gathers strength from the warmth of those affections which overshadew it, and is nour ished by a mother’s love, even before it has at tained the power of thought. It is the natural tendency of things, that an individual should be brought into a situation, in which the external condition oi the place, and the circle of society in which he is, are particularly adapted to bring forth to view his hereditary character. The ac tual condition ol the human mind is, as it were, the solid substance, in which the laws ol moral and intellectual philosophy and political economy (whate er may be their quality) exist embodied, as the natural sciences do in the material world, A knowledge of those laws, such as they exist, is the natural consequence of the development of the affections by which a child is connected with those that surround him. The connection of mind is not less powerful or universal than that of matter. All minds, whatever may be their condition, are not unconnected with God ; and, consequently, not unconnected with each other. To be Continued.