of the strange manner in which superstition has made savages of tolerably enlightened men, and taught them that the command thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,' was a sufficient justification for all manner of hypocrisy and falsehood in executing the sentence of blood; for we defy any one to read the registry of witchcraft in our land, without the conviction that there was unexampled knavery in those who were thought to be simply deluded, and that it was justified to their conscience by the denunciations of the Hebrew law against witches and offenders of that description. It seems certain that they imposed upon others, and it is probable that, like all deceivers, they imposed in a measure upon themselves.

We do not think that the Old Testament, read with any understanding, encourages this kind of superstition. Moses, in this provision against sorcery, knowing that such impostors were the pest of every unenlightened people, and might easily gain a dangerous influence, made the punishment severe enough to deter them from the crime. It does not appear that he believed in the reality of their powers and charms. We can infer nothing from his language, except that others believed; for the sternest infidel in New England might have approved severe statutes against witches, as persons who live by abusing the credulity and encouraging the vices of men. In the story of the resurrection of Samuel by the witch of Endor, everything bears the mark of evident imposture. The witch knew Saul by his extraordinary height, and his attendants. The ghost did not appear to Saul, except in the woman's own description; and the prophecy was made at a venture, trusting that his own desperation would make it true. While, therefore, we cannot charge the writers of the Old Testament with giving wrong impressions, it is evident that superstition has found its strong hold in the Hebrew scriptures, and can never be dislodged, till those remarkable writings, with their time and circumstance, spirit and letter, are better and more generally understood.

But we let these things pass, in order to show how entirely readers of the Old Testament lose the consolations of religion. The Hebrew faith never taught the immortality of the soul. Doubtless, there were intimations of this truth before Christianity. But the first clear, full, and convincing disclosure of a future existence, was made by him who died and rose again. Before he came, the grave was cold and dreary; no human eye could look through its caverns; no returning footprint was

ever seen in the churchyard way; no word of God revealed the destiny of man. And yet, in the day of solitude, sorrow, and bereavement, Christians turn over the pages of ancient inspiration, for that comfort which gilds every page of the gospel. When they pay the last tribute of affection, you hear them reading from that word which sums up all that was then known of the departed, in the withering sentence, 'dust to dust.' No wonder they mourn. Such language gives a double chilness to sorrow, and a deeper darkness to the tomb. If they had no other consolation, their tears would flow till time should dry them away. Happily they have. If they only lift up their eyes, they see the Sun of Righteousness rising, and his first warm radiance cast on the dark mountains on which their weary feet have trod.

Other instances might be pointed out, in which men go to the Old Testament for that instruction which it was never meant to afford them, and return without benefit, though not always without injury, from that word of truth which might have enlightened and improved them, had they read it without the veil on their hearts. But we may trace the effect of this misuse of it in the religious spirit of the present day. It is not the free and joyous reverence which should be paid to God. It is not that surrender of the heart and affections which duty and improvement require. It is a sullen devotion, a slavish submission. It is more like the studied homage offered to a king, than the pouring out of the soul in gratitude for a father's never weary love. It loves darkness rather than light. It is more at home in some melancholy tabernacle, than in the open sunshine and the broad creation. It is not the feeling inspired by a deep acknowledgement of the great perfections of God. We are impressed with the conviction, that the religion of many good Christians is but an imperfect likeness of that contained in the gospel. There, we read that devotion is a manly fervor, benevolence a noble and ever active principle; that Christianity is something more than a name and a profession, and that it absolutely and entirely disowns the livery or chain of party. And we fear that one great cause of it is, that men go to sit at the feet of kings and prophets, whilst the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than they-whilst the humblest Christian could have taught them that of their destiny, which they would have given worlds to know, had it not been revealed.

Let no one charge us with undervaluing the Old Testament,

because we say of it that it does not contain Christianity, and that men do wrong to go to it to learn the duties, feelings, and consolations of the christian religion. Deny it who can! We acknowledge the grandeur of its inspirations, the sublimity of its visions of God. We love the plaintive music of its hymns. We feel the greatness of the prophets, who sent a gleam of light down into future ages, seeing what none beside could see, hearing what others could not hear. We bow with reverence to all those mighty men, who, in their successive ages, lifted up the banner of religion and of God. Still we must say, that the Hebrew faith is not Christianity-it was only the preparation, which, when that which was perfect came, was ready to be done away.

Svo.

ART. VI. 1. Du Perfectionnement Moral, ou de l'Education de Soi-même. Par M. DEGERANDO. Seconde Edition. Paris. 1826. 2 tom. 2. Self-education, or the Means and Art of Moral Progress. Translated from the French of M. LE BARON DEGERANDO. Boston. Carter & Hendee. 1830. 8vo. pp. 456.

OUR readers may remember the opinion, expressed in a former number, that we have no ethical work of any living English writer, to be compared to the treatise, which we have now placed at the head of this article. We might, perhaps, with perfect justice, make this remark still more comprehensive, and declare our conviction that it holds a station in moral philosophy, which has not been filled by any writer in our language, either among the living or the dead. We do not mean to intimate by this, that it is superior, in all respects, to every treatise on morals which has preceded it. We would not have it understood, that we are insensible to the various merits of the great English moralists, by whose writings the habits of thought on ethical subjects, in our own country, have been principally formed. The theory of morals has certainly been discussed with uncommon ability, by some of the most acute minds in England, since the shock it received, in the age of Charles II., from the speculations of Hobbes. His writings were the signal for the commencement of an effectual study of human na

ture; and from that time,-when, as Warburton asserts, a general panic took place, the press sweat with controversy, and every young churchman militant would try his strength, by thundering at the steel cap of the philosopher of Malmesbury,' -the subjects of free-will, duty, moral obligation, the nature of virtue, and the condition and destiny of man, have been favorite topics of consideration, with many enlightened and profound English scholars. We should be unjust to the memory of such men as Cudworth, More, Clarke, Butler, Price, Smith, and Stewart, did we fail to acknowledge the value of their writings, and the clearness of the light they have shed on some of the most interesting subjects of human inquiry. At the same time, we cannot forget, that there is not a little truth in the sarcasm of Voltaire, when he said, that Clarke was nothing but a 'reasoning mill;' nor that this is too appropriate an appellation for the eminent men we have named, with the exception, certainly, of Dugald Stewart, and perhaps of the amiable Platonist, Henry More.

The merit of these writers generally consists in the profound and patient thought with which they view their subjects, and in the sound and logical application of argument. But they fail in exciting the reader's interest in the results at which they arrive. They prove everything so conclusively, and yet so dryly, that we get almost tired of being convinced. They carry us on, step by step, the mind yielding as it proceeds, and eager for the full and bright revelation of truth, until we are brought to conclusions in reality the most beautiful and inspiring, but presented in a form as little adapted to produce emotion, as if they were actually wrought out by the unconscious operation of a machine. They are satisfied with demonstrating a moral truth, as they would a theorem in geometry; and having done this, they forget all its rich and affecting applications to our moral nature. The consequence is, that in perusing their writings, while the head is enlightened, the heart is impoverished. They may contribute much to the correct formation of opinion, but little to the perfect developement of the character. They are too barren of sentiment, too abstract and dry. We seem to repose with them in the shady gardens of philosophy, where every tree is set in the most proper place, the walks skilfully laid out, and all the beds and banks prepared for the fragrant rose and clustering vine, but on which the imprecation uttered against the mountains of Gilboa, that there should be no rain, neither dew upon them, has been fulfilled.

If we were called to decide upon their relative merit, we should place Butler clearly at the head of English moral philosophers. His successors have either vainly attempted, like Paley and Priestley, to establish a different theory of moral obligation, or they have done little more than repeat his arguments under different forms, without advancing a step beyond the eminence, which he attained. The few sentences in Butler's Second Dissertation contain the most important principles on the theory of virtue, which Stewart and Brown have expanded over as many lectures. But, after all, we have nothing in Butler's writings, which does full justice to the subject. In his celebrated Sermons on Human Nature, which indeed are admirable as philosophic expositions of the grounds of duty, he lectures on the constitution of man, with less apparent feeling than an ingenious artisan would show in pointing out the construction and uses of a curious machine. He throws a steady light upon the inspiring questions, which man has always put, respecting his nature, his duty, his destiny; but it is light without warmth, and it falls upon the mind with as little direct moral effect, as the clear, cold moon-beams fall upon the earth.

We have made an exception in favor of Dugald Stewart. We yield to none in our admiration of his character, or in respect for his general philosophic views. He has labored long and worthily in the honorable vocation of illustrating the truths of moral philosophy; and he has succeeded, better than most of his predecessors, in presenting them in the beautiful and attractive light, which naturally belongs to them, and by which they are recommended to the affections and feelings, as well as the intellect. Far inferior to Butler in depth and precision of thought, as well as in skill in the management of an argument, he surpassed him in his sympathy with the spirit of humanity, and his ready perception of the lovely and sublime in the character and actions of men. He evidently wished to make his moral speculations subservient to the practice of virtue, an aid to the advancement of the human race in all that is morally beautiful, pure, and true. But it cannot be denied, that sensibility, rather than power, was the prevailing characteristic of Stewart's mind. He had more taste than genius. He could plan, better than execute. His outlines of a subject are always excellent; but we are disappointed in their completion. He made magnificent promises to his own mind and to the world; but when the trial came, he failed to fulfil them. Had he ac