every hue, so to speak, softly melts into the other ;
while the whole produces the brilliant yet harmonious
effect of rainbow-tints;
" Yet fades not half so swift away ;"
and, like the rainbow, our constitution shooting across
the thunder-cloud of war, has thrown some brilliance
over the darkest scenes, has excited the admiration of
foreign nations, and will prove, I hope, to have been
an omen of universal felicity, and the forerunner of a
brighter day, when the spirit of genuine liberty shall
no longer be conjined within the shores of our Island ;
but when all nations shall participate in the equal en-
joyment of the invaluable privileges which it is her's to
bestow !
151
HIS RETURN TO COLLEGE IN 1819.
On his return to College, in October, 1819, in addition
to his attendance at the Humanity and Greek classes,
he entered under the venerable and excellent professor
of Logic, Jardine ; of whose character, taken as a whole,
his admiration was unbounded ; and to whom he never
relerred, but in terms of affectionate respect. As he
was still so 3'outhful, I had said to him more than once,
" My dear, had you not better enter into the young side ?*
You may get the first prize among them ; but in the old
side, where the competition will be with men from two
to ten years older than yourself, you would, I imagine,
stand no chance,"' " PU try, father," was his only re-
ply. He did try with success ; for he carried away the
first prize in the whole class.
Letters, written in a hurried manner, with all the
confidence of a child, who knew that every line, and al-
most every word, would aflford pleasure to a widowed
father and an afflicted aunt, can possess but little inter-
est for others, especially for strangers. Being, howev-
* Most, if not all, of tUe literary and philosophical classes at
Glasgow, are divided into young and old sides ; to each of which,
prizes are allotted. This is done, I believe, partly as an encour-
agement to the younger, who could stiind no fair chance in com-
petition with persons many years older than tliemsflves ; and,
partly, that the professors may address to each division of the
class, Lectures or Illustrations suited to their respective capaci-
ities. This is the case, at least, in the niathematical department.
152
er, undisguised effusions of the heart, they may afford
an indication of character much more clearly than any
other species of composition. Under this impression,
some extracts are made from his correspondence during
his second session at College. It would be equally un-
natural and in vain to look at these for tine writing,
elaborate disquisition, or for any thing much beyond the
chit-chat of a fire side : and, indeed, the reader will
here find an exact picture of the dear youth in his ordi-
nary intercourse with the family. His vivacity — ever
accompanied l»y the strictest regard to christian sober-
nc^?, — and his occasional displays of wit, which gleamed,
but never wounded, — kept us always cheerful.
As his letters — generally written during the inter-
vals of College exercises, or domestic engagements ;
containing whatever suggested itself to his mind at these
fragments and moments of time ; and often entering into
fiimily affairs, or the news of Poole and its neighbour-
hood ; — present little continuity of thought ; — I am obli-
ged to give only mutilated extracts: but these will suf-
ficiently show the general state of his feelings and the
course of his pursuits. They were, as in the former
year, written equally to his father and his aunt.
November 15, 1819.
My dear Father and Aunt,
I am once more writing to you from my own cham-
ber — over my own desk — and, to complete mj' assur-
ance of the full identity of the place, with the Misses
W. strumming, in the next room, to the no small delight.
153
f presume, of musical ears. My reception here has
been pecuUarly kind on every hand. Mr. Professor
Walker welcomed me in a manner particularly gratify-
ing. I met him on Monday last at the College chapel
door. " Oh, Mr. Durant !'' said he, " I have been long-
ing to see you. You are a Logician, this year, I pre-
sume ?" ' Yes, Sir.' " Well, Sir, I can only say, I am
sorry to lose you." 1 don't repeat this out of vanity ;
but because 1 think it shows the Professor's kindness;
and because I think also you will be pleased with it.
Dr. and Mrs. Wardlaw are all that is kind and oblig-
ing. As for Mr. Jardine — Mr. H. is enamoured with
him. 1 am very much pleased with him : and, although
the professor's statements have, on two or three points
already, clashed with my own opinions ; and although
his philosophy and his reasonings, where they are orig-
inal, have now and then appeared to me a little doubt-
ful ; yet, where acknowledged truths are to be com-
municated, impressed, or explnined, I cannot but admire
his manly, plain, unadorned, familiar statements ; by
which he leads you on, as it were, to tlie acquisition of
truth ; — and brings 3'ou into the temple of knowledge
by such a gradual and easy ascent, that you have enter-
ed (he edifice before you know 3'ou have mounted the
long and tiresome flight of steps which you had before
seen leadinsr to the vestibule.
I am sorry that Mr. does not acknowledge the
justice of Mr. B , in severely correcting that F-'atre
fosdo Jilius fcedior — that filthy bantling, who has sudden-
ly emerged from a putrefying mass, the scum of Lord
Byron's brain ; and is now running over the land a mor-
13
154
al radical, wishing- to throw o/T every restraint, except
the bonds of iniquity ; and dellling all he touches, with
the gall of his bitterness, and the stains of his infectious
corruption. His lordship is indeed a great — almost the
greatest— poetical magician. Magicians of old, howev-
er, after bartering the ultimate reversion of both soul
and body to the arch-tiend, were content, in the inter-
mediate time, to pay him tithes, — more as an acknowl-
edgment of superiority than any thing else. The pres-
ent dealer in the black art, not content with so limited
a surrender, devotes all he has to the mighty master,
whose servant he appears to be, not by profession only,
but by perpetual practice, and unceasing diligence. In
a word, he gives the devil just the fee simple of him-
self, and all that belongs to himself.
Dec. 28, 1819.
Your letters are possessed of all the kindness and
liberality which your characters ever gave me to ex-
pect. With an high share of health, and a perpetual
flow of spirits, and every thing, in tact, to be thankful
for, I have yet a sort of susceptibility, — distinct, I hope,
from morbid sensibility, — which has produced an appar-
ent reserve on the subject of my future profession : —
not because I felt the most momentary distrust in your
kindness, or the slightest, the most evanescent shade
of suspicion as to your constant disposition to do me
good ; but because 1 have ever felt it painful to talk on
a subject of immense importance, on every point of
155
which my mind ha? been wnvering and toiling, without
ever attaining- any ultimate decision, except that 1 would,
in whatever direction my labours miirht be determined,
take care that what industry can gain, siiall not reraaiu
unattained.
I certainly prefer a learned profession, as most con-
genial to my habits of thinking and acting ; yet I leave
the decision with prudence and with you. The proba-
bility of my success I am unable to estimate. I suppose
my abilities reach the common standard of men in the
learned professions. I should, I hope, have plenty of
industry, and might, perhaps, get useful, though I should
never desire splendid, friends. In the mean time, my
indecision will not affect my industry ; because I am sure
that intellectual habits must be useful to me in every
situation. I hope that 1 shall not, in any situation, lose
sight of usefulness and religious duty : there is I know
and feel, great danger of this. I hope, however, that I
shall be preserved from the snare. * * *
Dr. Chalmers thinks that the late measures of gov-
ernment " are spreading a canopy of wholesome sever-
ity over the moralizing processes that are going on in
the nation, and which, if not interrupted, will land us in
a purer and better generation !" In a work now pub-
lishing, he speaks of " popularity as that which, with
all its adjuncts of crowd, and pressure, and animal heat,
with its head among the storms, and its feet in the quick-
sands, has nothing to compensate its numerous incon-
veniences, but the Hosannahs of a drivelling genera-
tion !"
156
January 16, 1820.
Your accounts of snow and cold quite surprise me
in these milder climates, where the only inconvenience
— if inconvenience it be — arising from the cold, has
been, the necessity of acquiring the important habit of
walking, running, sliding, or falling on streets — and hilly
ones, too — glazed like a looking-glass, from one end to
the other, or from top to bottom.
* * * There are some men so preposterously wicked,
that, as (in Ivanhoe) Whamba says, "I would laugh but
that 1 find 1 am weeping." — By the bye, Ivanhoe ! — it
is, indeed, refreshing to turn from the wrongs of bleed-
ing humanity, from the loathsomeness of * * *, and the
filth of Cloacine courts, to the wonderful monuments of
that m ghty genius — that better, that purer Shakspeare.
Whj', I do believe that this novel of his will do more to
promote a kindly and sympathising affection towards
that unhappy people,* than could vrell have been excit-
ed by a thousand appeals to the public from the Jews'
society ! Now remark, I look for no immediate effect
from the representations of fiction — but such gigantic
works of genius must be great moral machines, and pos-
sess a tremendously deteriorating, or a considerably
ameliorating efficacy. Now, in the present instance, I
really conceive that the sort offcelivg produced towards
the Jews, is by no means unimportant, and as a sort of
preparatory step — a clearing away of prejudice — and
tending to give a just view of the horrible oppression
* The Jews.
157
under which they have laboured. To the spirited
rhapsody above, 1 put an end last nig-ht, by a coup de
grace — ^just such as may be considered characteristic of
your correspondent's genius— in a word — snuffing out
the candle, when my wisdom intended to have brighten-
ed the flame of that luminary, by means of a prudent
and well-timed amputation of its excrescence.
February, 1820.
Your letter contains an unusual list of mortality.
This world reminds one more and more of a vast field,
of battle, where every part of the ranks is exposed to a
galling fire. If we move from an old station to a new
one, nothing is more striking, when we return to our
former position, than the vacancies occasioned in the
ranks since our departure. Every day forces home the
truth, that " there is no discharge in that war;" and
should induce us all more ardently to desire that " bet-
ter country," which is adorned with never-fading bloom,
and " where glittering robes for conquerors wait."
Among those who have conquered through Him who
hath loved them, we have every reason to believe that
good old Miss T — is now enjoying " the pleasures for-
evermore :" and it is, indeed, consolatory to reflect on
the fact, that when the '• earthly tabernacle" of chris-
tian friends is destroyed, the brilliance of eternity, and
the magnificence of their " Father's mansions," burst
at once on the astonished and delighted view of their
disembodied spirits.
13*
15
o
March, 1820.
On Monday Dr. VVardlavv was not in to dinner.
" Has there been a letter for me, Ma'am ?" was my first
inquiry. " No" was the sorrowful answer; "nor has
the Dr. been to the warehouse to-day ; but had there
been a letter, they would, I think, have sent it up."" —
Should I now go to the warehouse ? It was after din-
ner ; and after dinner is, with us, pretty late in the eve-
ning'. I bad a slight sore throat — I was excessively tir-
ed with walking and talking in the fore part of the day j
— and I therefore determined to await the Dr.'s return,
and the possibility of his having a letter. This deter-
mination did tolerably well, while I remained with the
family; but when 1 retired to my own apartment, and
thought of my aunfs head ache when you had last writ-
ten, 1 gradually mounted into all the mighty sublimity
of a true Durantine fume and fuss. You know, when
at home, in the same elevation, 1 gratify the household,
by slamming the door of my study — lying on the sofa —
twirling the chairs in the parlour — and launching forth
occasional tirades against every thing which, as 1 con-
ceive, may have contributed to my vexation.
//ere, however, politeness, of course, stops such out-
lets for my uneasiness. I therefore spread the blacken-
ed, blotted sheet of paper before me — took my pen —
and determined to go on in proving (such is our present
exercise) that, " Firtus est sola nobilitas.'''' I thought,
however, it would be much more noble just then to get
my letter, and so I could not write three sentences.
159
'' So said I to myself" — IHl lay down my pen and think.
Lay down my pen I did ; but I had marvellously tired
myself in the morning; and my meditations gradually
became those of the great Mr. B . Messenger after
messenger at length came from the tea-table, but m}'
ears remained unaffected, till J. VV. burst into my room,
calling out, " Tea's ready, tea's ready !" I rose, and
made my entree^ amid " peals of laughter loud and long,"
rubbing my eyes ; but wholly unconscious of having
slept for an hour, and denying a fact of which I really
could not be convinced, till I compared the time when
my meditation commenced, with that at which my rev-
erie was interrupted. Quurn tandem vix factum silentium
est., — I, more fully awakened, asked for letters, found
Dr. Wardlavv had one for me ! — opened it ! — saw both
hands — rread assurances of peace and safety ! — and sat
down to tea with more than usual satisfaction ; and I
hope, with unfeigned gratitude to Him, from whom
" cometh every good and perfect gift."
H wishes me to accompany him to France next
summer. To his solicitations I have returned a decid-
ed negative. His invitation is kind, but it has, from its
urgency, become almost troublesome. Had he a nicer
tact in discerning character, he would, I conceive, know
enough of me to be aware that I should not have con-
cealed my dispositions, if they had been favourable to
his proposal ; and that I should not hitherto have re-
mained unwavering, if my decision had been susceptible
of change. I should not have said this, but that he in-
tends to write to yuu on the subject. What he expects
from this, it is beyond my power to divine. If he fan-
4
160
cies, that I am onl}'^ waiting for 3'our permission to ac-
cept his invitation, I am sure he is vastly mistaken in
me; and if he anticipates your ordering me off, without
any regard to my own inclinations, I presume to hope
that he is equally mistaken in you ! The journey I
should esteem little short of absolute criminalitj". My
vacation time is most precious, — and should, and I hope,
â– will, be preserved most inviolate. The terms of thanks,
in which politeness, and a sense of real kindness have
induced me to decline our friend's proposal, have prob-
ably led him to suspect me of indecision. If it be so, I
do not know myself; or this is another grievous mis-
take in the estimate he must have termed of my char-
acter.
I look forward to my return, with feelings of warm
anticipation. 1 wished for home last session ; but not, I
think, with the same ardency as now. I expect the
highest pleasure from the first view of Old England. I
hope, indeed, that I am aware how completely every
prospective enjoyment is in the hand of a superior pow-
er, who can blast, if he please, — and, if he please, can
make its charms burst forth in unclouded and unlooked-
for brilliancy.
May 1, 1820.
I AM just now returned from the Hall,
which kept me till about one o'clock. As for my suc-
cess, you will learn, from the Glasgow paper, that I
stand again at the head of my class — that my vacation
161
essay on the tribunicial, &;c. has been successful — and
that, in a word, ray hopes have been realized, and my
expectations surpassed. To affect total indifference to
these thing?, would arg-ue a miserable mixture of stupid
arrogance, and base dissimulation : but most truly can 1
say, that my chief pleasure arises, not from any tempo-
rary applause which I may gain ; but fi'ora the hope
that these marks of academical approbation will con-
vince you, that trouble and expense have not been en-
tirely thrown away on me ; that I do not shrink from
the efforts necessary to gain knowledge ; and that I am
not last in the ranks of vigorous, and, 1 hope, virtuous,
competition.
I assure you, I now long to be in London. All that
intervenes I wish out of the way ; and although I have
spent on the whole a pleasant winter with every mark
of affectionate attention from Dr. and Mrs. Wardlaw,
with not a few agreeable College companions, and with
a fair share of general success ; yet I must needs ac-
knowledge, that absence has not diminished mv lon^ina-
after the south, and my love of those whom 1 hope to
meet there.
I
162
During this session, he wrote several essays, prescrib-
e<] by the professor, and some voluntaries, in prose and
verse. I have now before me three pieces composed
at that time. One is of considerable size, on the trite
subject, prescribed by Mr Jardine, " virtus est sola et
UNTCA NOBiuTAS ; another is very large, entitled "logic
THEME," from which 1 shall extract a part of the con-
clusion ; and the third, is a " descriptive essay," in
verse, which is given entire.
LOGIC THEME,
After giving a definition of the term Logic — a state-
ment of the precise objects of the science— and an
analysis of the entire system of Logic, as it stood be-
fore Lord Bacon's J\"ovam Organum, or as it has stood
even since in works of estabUshed reputation, he pro-
ceeds thus ; —
Such is a very imperfect outline of a system which
once ruled the whole literary world with an iron scep-
tre — of a system v\bich deserved to be revered, but
which was, unfortiitiately, idolized ; — which merited
influencej and authority, but which possessed so despotic
a power over mankind, that the progress of knowledge
was interrupted ; the exertions of intellect drawn away
from their pro])er objects ; and the bold llights of im-
agination restrained by the influence of that mag-ic cir-
cle, nhich had been drawn by false philosophy, and in-
veterate prejudices.
After having' thus given an outline of the ancient lo-
gic, it remains that we attend to its history, and trace it
from its origin in the scattered precepts of a compara-
tively unphilosophical age, through all the intermediate
stages of its progress, down to its present state of de-
cayed grandeur, of neglected and mouldering magnifi-
cence.
The history of logic may be, accordingly, consider-
ed under three divisions : — I. Logic, before the time of
Aristotle; — II. Logic, from the time of Aristotle, till the
revival of literature ; — III. Logic, from the revival of
literature, till the present hour. To these divisions I
hope strictly to adhere, although I do not intend formal-
ly to mark them.
Men reason before rules of reasoning are promulga-
ted ; and use the syllogism before they are acquainted
with its name. Tiie wise, however, have always been
disposed to form rules tor men of inferior abilities, and
the world at large has been sensible of the advantages
which arise from listening to the directions of those,
whom their natural talents and their acquired endow-
ments have raised above the ordinar}^ level. No soon-
er does any operation become of importance, than rules
are collected for the guidance of those who perform it :
the village matron, even, has her prudential maxims for
the conduct of life, or the management of her house-
hold — the farmer has his proverbs about the weather,
the soil, and the productions of the earth — and we might
164
be sure that, when philosophical truth became an object
of some importance, inquirers would not be long with-
out precepts to guide them in the way which leads to
the attainment of that object.
The facts of history agree with the expectations we
had formed ; and we find, that when man began to in-
vestigate and to reason, rules to direct him in these pro-
cesses began also to make their appearance.
About the fortieth Ol^'mpiad, seven eminently wise
men arose in Greece. The simultaneous appearance
of these great men is partly attributable to the state of
the age and to the honors and rewards which now be-
gan to attend literary merit ; while, on the other hand,
the age was rendered illustrious, the progress of im-
provement facilitated, and general intellectual cultiva-
tion carried forward with greater ardor and success, in
consequence of the knowledge obtained by these distin-
guished persons, and by them communicated to others.
Rules of logic v\ere now beginning to be promulgated.
There was no art, no regular system ; but there were a
number of nnarranged precepts, invented, or rather
discovered, by different men, in different places, at dif-
ferent times, and while pursuing different trains of in-
quiry. These rules, however, as was natural in the
infant state of the science, referred to the first part of
logic, and were constructed with the sole purpose of
enabling men to form clear, and distinct ideas, by means
of definition, division, classification, &;c. In process of
time, however, an art of debate was invented by Zeno,
This was called the dialectic art, because the discussion
was kept up by means of a dialogue. Zeno seems to
165
have imagined that disputation had victory, rather than
truth, for its object. It appears, however, not improb-
able, that this philosopher has been charged with sins
which are rather imputable to those who seized the
weapons he had fabricated ; and made such use of them
as the first inventor would never have sanctioned with
his approbation. However this may have been, the
lamentable effect is certain. What should have been
an art of reasoning, degenerated into a system of ma-
noeuvres, with victory alone for their object ; while
TRUTH was concealed by the quibbles of innumerable
sophists, whose real, and, not unfrequently, whose pro-
fessed, design it was to obscure her radiance.
At length, Socrates arose — he saw the bad moral, as
"well as the miserable intellectual, effects of the plan
which the sophists were pursuing — and, adding to the
force of truth the power of his own mighty genius — he
effectually opposed, with their own weapons, those who,
indifferent to the nature of their cause, reasoned only
that they might gain a little eclat, or a little profit. The
dialectic art, in the hinds of Socrates, was no longer a
vain instrument of frivolous disputation. He made use
of it to elucidate points of morality — to discover truth —
to refute falsehood — to convince obstinacy — to humble
pride — to detect sophistry — to trace the path of duty,
and to expose the deviations of error. But this great
philosopher fell a sacrifice to his noble exertions — and
of him may it, with peculiar emphasis, be said, that he
died on the field of glory. Those who disliked his po-
litical connexions, and those who dreaded the effects of
his philosophical opinions, alleged against him, as if it
14
166
had been a crime, the purity of his religious sentiment!?.
Those vvlio could no longer argue, were able to con-
demn ; and those who could not refute the reasoning
advanced, were now contented. — For the}' could poison
the reasoner.
We have already observed, that the rules of logic
hitherto established referred only to the means of ac-
quiring clear and distinct notions. Aristotle, however,
at length applied himself to the task, and introduced the
SYLLOGISM, with all that complicated system of rules, on
which it depends. Struck with admiration at the cer-
tainty of mathematical conclusions, he attempted to in-
troduce equal certainty into every kind of reasoning.
His system has been noticed in a former part of this ex-
ercise : 1 shall, therefore, say nothing about it here ;
but merely attend to a few circumstances connected with