of literature or science from the hands of a sect, and by divesting it of the jargon in which their pride and pedantry had involved it, lays it open to the comprehension and use of the multitude, does as much for the interests of learning, as those who have most distinguished themselves by the originality of their views, and by the extent to which they have pushed their researches. To bring down philosophy from its high places is to enhance its real, dignity by adding to its usefulness. This service was performed by Locke. He not only raised more from the field in which he labored than his predecessors had done, but he improved the soil, and increased the number of cultivators. He was as much the father of modern metaphysics, as Newton was of astronomical science, or Adam Smith of political economy. Hume borrowed his weapons from Locke, and from the desire of refuting the skeptical conclusions of the former, arose the Scotch and German schools, the opposite poles of modern philosophy.

Up to a recent period, the authority of Locke, in all that related to style of thought and expression, was paramount among English philosophers. None adopted his doctrines to their full extent. His lively pupil, Shaftesbury, and others impugned them as soon as published. Hume, the French school of Condillac and Condorcet, received such portions as they found would form convenient premises for their own preconceived skeptical conclusions. Other writers followed the opposite course; they took what the skeptics left, and abandoned what their opponents had adopted. Condillac fastened on that portion of Locke's system, which traces the origin of the mind's furniture to sensation ; Reid and Stewart on the other part, which refers the source of many ideas to reflection. Each party condemned what they did not find convenient for their own purposes. Both - followed the manner of their common predecessor. The same simplicity of statement, the same directness of argument, equal caution in the use of figurative terms, and against the ambiguities arising from the nature of language, are found in the writings of all to whom we have alluded. They imitated neither the eloquent dreams of Plato, nor the mystical refinements of Plato's commentators. The mind was to them a subject of experiment and observation ; experience was their guide, and they followed it, with caution indeed, but without the least suspicion that it was a blind guide, and that its proper name was empiricism. The subtilties and abstruse phraseology of the schoolmen were held as obsolete as their speculations in physics, and a follower of Newton would have reverted to the system of Ptolemy, or the vortices of Descartes, sooner than an English metaphysician, after the time of Locke, would have babbled in the vain jargon of the middle ages. They easily adopted modes of thought and language, which fell in with the national character, and their philosophy harmonized with their manners and habits of life.

But the fashion of the times has greatly altered. A change has come over the spirit of speculation, and tricked out its former plain garb in quaint devices and foreign fashions. A forced marriage has been effected between poetry and philosophy, the latter borrowing from the former a license to indulge in conceit and highly figurative expression, and giving in return an abstruse and didactic form to the other's imaginative creations. One would think, that men were weary of common sense expressed in pure Eng. lish, and, from the mere love of change, were striving after what is uncommon and impure.

Certain it is, that a revolution in taste and opinion is going on among our literary men, and that philosophical writing is assuming a phasis entirely new. Its former characteristics are decried, or at least designated by new terms,

The ques.

that imply a shade of reproach. If the alteration regard the dress more than the substance, if the transcendental philosophy as yet be a manner rather than a creed, still the departures from the old method are real, and involve important consequences. But we believe, that the change is more sweeping in its nature. It is proposed, not to alter and enlarge, but to construct the fabric anew. tion does not concern an addition to our former stock of knowledge, but relates to the reality and value of all previ. ous acquisitions. It becomes, therefore, a matter worthy of all inquiry, whether the present revolution be, like that effected by Lord Bacon, an evidence of intellectual progress, an epoch in the history of man, or whether it be the mere reaction of mind pushed too far to one extreme, the recoil of systems too much depreciated, and too long forgotten.

We take this matter up seriously, but in a tone that is fully justified by the pretensions of a large class of writers. They would fain have us believe, that a new light has dawned, — that old things in philosophy have passed away, and that all things are becoming new. As yet, they are more busy in tearing down, than constructing anew. A sweeping censure is put on all that has been accomplished, and nothing definite is offered to supply its place. Now, we are no bigots to antiquity; we are not attached to the old road, simply because it is old, but because it is the best which we have yet found to travel upon, and we will not diverge upon a by-path, that leads confessedly through many a swamp and thicket, until fully convinced, that we shall thereby reach our journey's end the sooner.

The arrogant tone has been too quickly assumed, for the new philosophy wants even the first recommendation to notice. There is primâ facie evidence against it. It is abstruse in its dogmas, fantastic in its dress, and foreign in its origin. It comes from Germany, and is one of the first

in many

fruits of a "diseased admiration of every thing from that source, which has been rapidly gaining ground of late, till

individuals it amounts to sheer midsummer madness. In the literary history of the last half century, there is nothing more striking to be recorded, than the various exhibitions of this German mania. It is curious to watch the developments of the passion through all the modes, in which the human mind exerts its powers. Poetry, theology, philosophy, - all have been infected. We believe, that there are more English translations of Faust than of the Iliad, and that most of them have been published within the last ten years. A version of one of Schiller's plays has a better chance of finding purchasers and readers, than an origi. nal drama, Sergeant Talfourd's success to the contrary notwithstanding. We have no wish to institute a parallel between the merits of the dramatic writers of the two countries. Perhaps the result of such a weighing in the balance might be unfavorable to our national pride. But our present reference is only to the disposition evinced by our literary men to translate, and by the public, to purchase

and peruse.

We would not be understood to decry the study of the language and fascinating literature of Germany. The characteristics of this last throw great light on the mind of the remarkable people to whom it belongs. Its extraordinary freshness and originality are more consonant with the works of the remotest antiquity, with the earliest efforts of the Greeks, for instance, than with the worn and polished traits of modern letters. But we have no sympathy with that ill-regulated admiration, which seeks to transplant German roots to an English soil, to cultivate a hot-bed, where plants shall be forced till they lose their native char. acter. The peculiarities of the German mind are too striking to grace any other people than themselves. Imita

tion is a poor business at all times, and the matter is not much improved, when, from long familiarity with foreign models, individuals adopt a borrowed cast of thought and language with greater ease than their native style.

The history of English literature is full of instruction on this point. Foreign influence has ever proved its bane. The reign of Queen Anne was signalized by the triumph of French taste; the authority of Boileau among the Eng. lish wits was hardly inferior to his influence at the court of Versailles. Yet do we look to that period, or to the Elizabethan

age,

with the greatest pride ? Was Rowe or Ben Jonson (we will not drag a greater name into such a comparison) the finer genius? Dryden's example should have some weight, and does he appear to greater advantage in his rhyming plays, where he imitated the French, or in his English fables? It matters not, whether the Classical or the Romantic school be the object of imitation, nor does the question depend on the comparative merits of the two. Schlegel may be a better critic than Boileau ; Goethe and Schiller more worthy of admiration than Racine and Voltaire. But to us, they are all foreigners, writing in a strange tongue for another people. Peculiarities of national character must create corresponding varieties of literary expression ; in this way only, are polite letters significant

1 of the genius of the people among whom they have their birth. Cosmopolitism, if we may be allowed the word, does not belong to the external forms of literature, though it may to the spirit and substance. Unluckily, these traits of nationality are the most prominent of all to the eyes of a foreigner. They are the salient points on which the copyist fastens, and he is faithful to his original in proportion as he departs from the character of the very people, to whom his writings are addressed.

As a people, the Germans are remarkable for their in