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of such names as Newton and Locke. | Continuing, however, to inquire into the nature of things, and the origin of human knowledge, other difficulties occurred; and happening to meet with some books on metaphysical subjects, in which their authors had strongly opposed some of the principles mentioned by those authorities, to whom I had been accustomed to give the most obsequious deference, my mind, by degrees, became unshackled; and, though with considerable hesitancy, I at length ventured to think for myself, on all subjects not immediately revealed.

Sir Isaac Newton, in a passage that has had its admirers, expresses himself thus, "In bodies, we see only their figures and colours, we hear only the sound, we touch only their outward surfaces, we smell the odours and taste savours, but their inward substances are not to be known, either by our senses, or by any reflex act of our minds; much less, then, have we any idea of the substance of God." Locke, Clarke, and others, have repeatedly asserted the same thing in other words.

assert that the substance of the Deity is different from that of the world which he has created." Other remarks follow on the subject, but as the preceding quotation is quite sufficient for my purpose, I omit transcribing them.

If we are utterly ignorant of the nature of material and immaterial substances, how indeed can we tell, but that the same substance, differently modified, may be the support of all properties whatever, as Spinoza has contended? Extremes, it is said, resemble each other. And this is evidently the case with the Berkeleyan and Spinozian systems, however widely, at first sight, they may appear to differ. Nor is it at all improbable, that the doctrine of real unknown essences, supporting different aggregates of properties, gave birth to both. Dr. Reid, if I mistake not, has acknowledged that the scheme of Berkeley was logically deduced from the principles of Locke; and it is certain its admirers continue to support it in the same way. A very learned metaphysician, and an avowed enemy of the philosophy developed in the essay concerning human understanding, has asserted, that if there be any meaning in words, as far as the essential properties of any being is known, we know so much of its real nature. And, I must confess, that whenever I have subtracted the essential properties of any being, from its essential nature, I never could find that there was any thing left. Dr. Watts, I remember, in his Logic, opposes Mr. Locke's unknown substratum, and treats it as a mental phantom without an archetype in nature; and traces its origin to a common source of error, the structure of language.

Let us now see the use made of this principle, that we have no idea of any substance whatever, by a daring sceptic, who attempts, not only the destruction of systems, but " the wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds." After imimposing upon himself by a number of sophisms, this author contends, that while we continue to insist upon the existence of distinct mental powers, we must conclude against the unity of the human soul; and asks "What is the substance of the soul? If reason, perception, understanding, volition, memory, and imagination, be powers of the soul, what is the soul itself?" The proper answer to these questions, as far as the Thus far I had written, Sir, when it unity of the soul is concerned is this, occurred to my mind, that the Dr. had that these are not distinct powers, con- noticed this subject in his philosophisidering power as a cause, but mere- cal essays. I read them many years ly names used to denote the different ago, but had lost a distinct rememcapacities and acts of the soul. He brance of particulars, and was thereproceeds, "If it be answered, that the fore greatly surprised on reading the soul is that, in which all these powers following observations. The Dr. obinhere; and that substance can be serves, after animadverting upon the described in no other way, than as inconsistency of Locke, in abandoning that, in which certain qualities exist; I any general notion of substance, as anask, if it be not evident, that all dis- other real physical distinct being, protinction must be made, not between vided to support all its real or supposed things, but between their qualities? accidents or qualities, and yet often reMaterial substance, considered as sub-presenting this notion of substance as stance, could not be distinguished from spiritual substance; and we could not

some real unknown thing or being; “Truly, if there were any such real

being in nature as substance in gene- | ral, or a common substance which supports all the properties of things, and this being were utterly unknown to us, then I think it might be granted, that all beings are, or at best might be, the same in substance, and are or may be diversified only by their properties or accidents; for if we know nothing of this being called substance, we can deny nothing of it. And then, perhaps, it might be said, that God and the creature, that body and mind, are the same in substance, even the same individual substance, and that they differ only in certain properties. But this is a most palpable falshood, which I shall take some further notice of by and by: for God and the creature differ from each other in their very essence, in their substantial nature or physical being, though the logical or generic idea of substance may be applied to them both, as self-subsisting beings."-Essay 2, section 1.

"If

In section 3, Consideration the Fifth, he says, "Let it be considered also, that the supposition of some utterly unknown being called substance, to be the substratum or subject of all the properties of body, and such an unknown being also to be the subject of all the properties of mind or spirit, is a notion that carries with it some dangerous consequences, and therefore ought not to be too easily embraced." And again, further, he observes, this opinion should be true, then how can we tell but God himself, even the infinite mind, may have also the property of solid extension, that is, may also be matter or body; and then he may be the same with the universe of beings, as Spinoza fancied; and thus the whole universe, God and this world, may be the same individual substance, which Spinoza maintains with subtilty: for if there be such a thing as an universal ulterior substratum necessary to support solid extension, and to support the power of thinking, and this substance or substratum be so unknown a thing as Mr. Locke supposes, how can I deny any thing concerning it? or, at best, how can I be sure that God and the material world have not one common substance!" The Dr. adds, " In that section, Mr. Locke endeavours to guard his principles or doctrines from the danger of this objection, which he supposes, very naturally, to arise from his

principles or concessions; but I think he neither does, nor perhaps could effectually secure them from such unhappy consequences."

My object in this paper is, to request some able hand to take up its pen, and either clear the current opinion from these consequences, or help to scout it from the regions of philosophy. This request does not proceed from a captious sceptical head; but from a mind steadily fixed on, and ardently, though cautiously, pursuing truth. I confess, that at present I think with the good Dr. quoted above, that there is no necessity of going beyond essential properties, in quest of an unknown nature. Solidity may be, for aught I see to the contrary, the very essence of matter, and consciousness the essence of spirit. If I am wrong, I shall be thankful to any one who will endeavour to put me right. I am, Sir,

Your's, respectfully,
AN ENQUIRER.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE IMPERIAL MAGAZINE.

SIR, Liverpool, June 10, 1819. IF the following original lines should meet your approbation, their insertion in your truly valuable publication will particularly oblige your

Constant Reader, W. M.

THE NEGRO'S PRAYER. 'Twas night, and o'er the rippled sea

A gentle breeze arose, More welcome than the scorching sun, That here in noonday glows. The balmy dew-drops heavy fell, And dimly shone the moon; No sound disturb'd, save wind and wave, The soul-inspiring gloom.

Not long the awful silence reign'd;

For straight from Negro shed,
Along the beach with hasty step,
The captive Gambia fled.

Thro' well-known paths from thence he flew,
And 'neath a lime's dark shade,
The harass'd slave, o'er Leah's tomb
The ardent tribute paid.

Then turning from the hallow'd spot,

Weak, pensive, and opprest,
To Heav'n he rais'd his weeping eyes,

And thus reliev'd his breast:
"O Alla! say, must Afric's tribe

Sink fetter'd to the grave?
And when the spirit takes its flight,
Will shackles load the slave?

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IPHIGENIA OF TIMANTHES,
A Poem:

The Subject for the Newdigate Prize, at
Oxford, for 1819.

By the Author of Genius, a Vision. IMAGINATION! Thou whose kindling eye Erst pierc'd the crystal glories of the sky; Saw Gods in grief--and awe-struck at the sight, Denied a mortal's misery to light;

Oh! once again vouchsafe to point our view,
And raise the vision of the past anew.
Such as Timanthes saw, till Aulis' tale
Embodied-turn'd the shudd'ring nations pale.
Then time at last were cheated of his prey,
The pen would snatch the pencil from decay.
The vision rises-mark, 'amid the band,
So ghastly wan, the victim princess stand;
Not as ere while, in impotence of pray'r,
But stamp'd a silent convert to despair.
Fix'd as the wife that turn'd her longing gaze,
Where nought but stone could tolerate the
blaze;

Oppos'd-confronted-like as Lot had been,
Had but one glance resought his bosom's queen.
Like to huge Atlas, when his weaker foe*
Struck with his gorgon talisman the blow.
The king, the father stands-but veil'd in grief,
Since dumb conviction dares not hope relief.
Stupendous thought! to veil a mortal's throe,
To give to Fancy, e'en a God in woe.
No! not a pang the pencil e'er pourtray'd,
So much of mourning majesty convey'd;
Still is his form, and can that calm express
More than a God's epitomis'd distress.
Colossal all! here pity turns to gaze,
And pour the speechless homage of amaze.
But mark that eye! its fix'd and glassy stare
Might basilisk the demon of despair.
No hope on earth, the princess looks on high,
And dread Diana answers from the sky.
Such look our loveliestt when her cherub fled,
Fix'd on its car of glory as it sped;

And ere her herald pass'd the gates of bliss,
Clapp'd the glad wing, and join'd him with a

kiss.

Genius of Britain! thou that o'er her bier
Still in distraction shed'st th' unceasing tear;
Shall Grecian woe absorb thy wond'ring gaze,
And Grecian art monopolize thy praise;
Bid thine own children vindicate thy name,
And Painting tell thy tale of tears to Fame;
Then 'neath thy cypress wreath may start a
smile,

To see thy grief immortalize thine isle.
Perseus-See Lempriere.

This and the following lines allude to the melancholy fate of the Princess Charlotte.

THE VILLAGER'S LAY.

CANTO II.

CONTIGUOUS, or remote, or verging wide, Now landscape beauties rise in all their pride; Untir'd, on these the eye delights to dwell, Where hills and valleys bold receding swell. Where hamlets rise, and glitt'ring on the spire, From morn's bright porch the earliest ray of fire,

Proclaims the dawn:-now o'er the village plain,

Advancing Summer leads the smiling train.
In sylvan pride extending trees compose
A compact fence of intertwisted boughs;
The hedge-row now, while Summer's pride

arrays,

Of various kinds a flowery robe displays;
But fairest hue, and sweetest in perfume,
The WILDING ROSE suspends her blushing
Emblem of 'rural innocence, and meek
plume;

As maiden worth dyes virtue's lovely cheek ;
Retiring modest midst the sylvan scene,
Simple as sweet, the hedge-row's floral green :
Left thus to nature, culture's boasted cares
Disdains a wild-flower every thicket bears.
Sweet Wilding Rose! though in the garden's
bound,

Each sister beauty breathes her fragrance round; Damask or scarlet, in each tincture dyed,

Tempt with their charms the hand of guilt or pride,

Awhile to such their beauties are diplay'd,
Sweet Wilding Rose! no guilty hands assign
Then cast away indifferent ere they fade!
To cold neglect such simple charms as thine;
Empearl'd in dews, ere from thy native thorn,
The Sun has kiss'd the moisture of the morn,
Reflection wand'ring, reads in every flower
The curious traces of creative power;
Reads in thy blushes and thy odours sweet,
The health and beauty of this mild retreat.
But emblem'd then, let simple truth arise,
From the sweet wild rose in its lovely guise;
To the plain village-maid, whose native grace
Reigus in her manners, as her smiling face:
To her the town, and its politer round,
Ne'er lent their lessons; her attainments found
Within the circle of a generous heart,
Ne'er shar'd, nor sought to share, the charms

of art.

Frank, unsuspecting, innocent, and kind,
Her fears as heedless, and unwarp'd her mind;

Nor deem, ye proud, as unreserv'd and free,
Her virtue suffers in the same degree.
The ready smile, the blush to nature truc,
Which folly scorns and guilt might misconstrue,
Own like the flower, ere placed in green-house
dome,

The native fragrance of a native bloom.

Ere Phœbus gilds the orient porch of morn, Or darts a ray upon the dew-wet thorn, The rustic quits his bed-nor hard to rise Deems it, though sleep reluctant quits his eyes, Bends on his knees, and from his mean abode Presents a grateful off'ring to his God. His altar there no cloth of gold adorns, No costly odours with his incense burns; His incense such as prayers and praise impart, His sole-best altar is bis grateful heart.

And while he feels with glorious hopes imprest,

A rill of heav'n spring up within his breast,
Hastes to his labour, thankful for repose,
And strange to idleness, no languor knows.
His matin hymn salutes the rising gale,
And answering echoes waft it through the vale;
Health, strength, attendant on his homely fare,
His physic labour and the morning air.

When o'er the eastern hills, a beauteous sight,

Day's glorious ruler lifts his urn of light;
In proudest splendours down the orient sky,
Nature's gay pencil glows with every dye;
Each various tincture, in refractive pride,
Which paints the noon-tide bow, is here sup-
plied:

The fleecy clouds at his approach unroll'd,
Bathe his bright tresses in a sea of gold,
Receding wide, till faded splendours glow,
An amber veil along th' horizon's brow,

Rural and pleasing when at purple dawn,
While yet the dew-drops glitter on the lawn,
With pail and piggin winding o'er the lee,
The milkmaid takes her morn-accustomed way,
The blushing rose in summer pride that breaks,
Might win fresh lustres from her youthful

cheeks.

While on her neck the russet hue betrays
Her length of labours in the solar blaze.
With rural cooings call her ready cows,"
To yield the boon each morn and eve bestows:
Beguiles her cheerful task with song or tale,
As nectarean streams enrich her pail,
While rustic Hodge sits on the neigh'bring style.
And woos the maiden with unpolish'd wile.
Scratches his head, and tells his tale of love,
As words and pauses may his passion move:
Whistles, and talks, and sings; alternate glee,
Commends his ballad, then her minstrelsy;
Descants on lands, then talks his horses o'er,
And waits her counsel, skill'd in rustic lore;
A lover he, whose passions equal move,
Tho' cool in each, to wisdom and to love.

These are thy offspring Britain, nor disdain
These native diamonds of the rural plain :
But pride extends her wide-exerted rule,
And all are eager learners in her school.
Nor by the city is her empire bound,
Each town extends the influenza round;

The village too must imitate the town,
Though each gradation still more feeble grown :
As when some serpent's bite with livid stain,
Spreads angry round the poisoned spring of
pain:

The dire infection shoots through ev'ry part,
Swells with the vital current from the heart,
Taints every vein, till as it wider flows,
One putrid mass the living hody grows :
So pride, strong poison from the city's scene,
Flows through all orders to the village green.
End of Canto Second.

EPITAPH ON A BISHOP IN THE ISLE OF
MAN.
In this house,

Which I have borrowed from my brethren
the worms, lie I,
SAMUEL,

by divine permission, late Bishop of this Island, in hopes of the resurrection to eternal life. Reader,-stop,

view the Bishop's palace-and smile.

SAGACITY OF A DOG. Communicated by W. H. of Halifax, October 6, 1819.

A few years ago, a dog belonging to one of the domestics at the Old Cock ployed (perhaps chiefly by way of cuInn, in this town, was frequently emriosity) to fetch muffins, from a baker's at a considerable distance.

On a penny being put into his mouth, he would make his way with speed to the baker's, and would stand in the door-way with it in his mouth, till the muffin was brought, dropping the money into the hands of those who gave it him, and with which he would immediately return to his employer.

But what was most remarkable is, that though his way lay through one of the most populous parts of the town, and he was frequently met with the muffin in his mouth, by those who were unacquainted with him, and almost as frequently assailed with sticks, stones, and hats, as well as with the degrading cry of stop thief! yet the faithful creature, was never known to relinquish his charge; proving, that "the faithfulness of the dog" is something more than proverbial;-and it would be well if all bipeds were equally so!

ON INSTINCTIVE SAGACITY.

ALTHOUGH it is uniformly admitted that Reason and Instinct differ considerably from each other, there are very few who have attempted so to

define their specific boundaries, as to furnish a certain criterion, which will enable us on all occasions to classify phenomena and incident, when they appear, with any tolerable degree of exactness. In common instances, when Reason and Instinct diverge from each other, and are seen in their respective extremes, no difficulties occur. But in cases where they seem to approximate, they are so blended and incorporated, at the point of union, that disappointment has hitherto smiled at the efforts made by ingenuity to draw the line of demarcation. We should be glad if some of our ingenious correspondents would inform us, upon what principle we can account for the following well-attested facts:

walking on a wharf which he had been accustomed to frequent. He was, however, much mortified and surprised to find, that all his attempts to invite the creature to his caresses were treated with the utmost contempt. The dog, as if conscious of the unmerited insult it had received, disowned the man, who had been mean enough to exclude it from the house. Thus it continued for some time subsisting on independent poverty, but no efforts or overtures could ever induce it to acknowledge its former master. The dog was finally taken on board a ship, and carried to sea.

had made a deep impression. It then watched an opportunity, walked out of the house, and was never seen by the family again.

A farmer having a dog which had been strongly suspected of killing some sheep, fell into disgrace, but the A gentleman, a few years since, lodg- evidence not being decisive, no sening at a house in Liverpool, brought tence was passed. Suspicions, howwith him a dog, to which the people of ever, growing stronger, the master one the house took a great dislike. After evening, in an angry tone, said to the some time had elapsed, the lodger re- dog, "Thou art surely guilty, and shalt moved, but left his dog behind, which be put to death." The animal looked the people considered as a very un- on him with much significant eagerpleasant inmate, and an equally unwel-ness, as though the sentence of death come visitor. On finding that no treatment could induce the dog to forsake them, pity towards the poor animal pleaded so strongly in its favour, as to prevent the sentence of death. From being thus preserved out of mere compassion, the dog rose in the estimation of the family, and became a general favourite, until age and infirmities rendered it too troublesome to be any longer supported. Being afflicted with fits, ardent wishes for its death were frequently expressed; but the dog on recovering was always permitted to live. One day, however, its extreme illness led the family to resolve on its destruction the ensuing night, either by hanging or drowning. Scarcely had this sentence been passed, before the dog revived. It then immediately withdrew from the house, and was never heard of more.

Another gentleman being at lodgings and having a dog, which, when the weather was wet and dirty, much annoyed the family, was desired by the mistress to put it away. To comply with her request, without thinking to do the animal any injury, he contrived one evening to enter the house, and shut the door so suddenly, that the dog was excluded. Being unwilling to lose his faithful quadruped, he arose early the next morning, and went in pursuit of it, and to his great joy found it

OBSERVATIONS ON IRREVERENCE IN

PUBLIC WORSHIP.

Halifax, Nov. 5, 1819.

MR. EDITOR, SIR,-In your last number, (October,) col. 729, your correspondent Pentz makes the following remark: "I have observed, with considerable surprise and disgust, that in the congregations of a certain class of people, who are both numerous and respectable, a vast number are in the habit of sitting during the time of public prayer, as tho' the minister alone had to do with the Divine presence, &c." I wish, Sir, he had been more specific as to the people who are chargeable with such irreverence!

However, I am ready to conclude, from what I dimly see, that his eye is fixed on the Methodists; to whom, I assure you, the allusion is quite applicable. But, Sir, there is another posture with which many of the Methodists are chargeable, equally, if not more irreverent; viz. kneeling on their seats, with their backs turned on him who is appointed as their mouth to the Almighty! But your corresponden

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