are constantly accumulating in the progress of a nation from barbarism to civilization; as these truths are constantly increasing, both in number and grandeur, they constitute an ever-enlarging nucleus, around which succeeding minds will cling; from which, they can derive aid and inspiration. These truths expand the mind; give it far more comprehensive notions than are ever entertained by the uneducated; unfold to the imagination a field for its dwelling place, incomparably superior, both in magnitude and majesty, to that occupied by the untutored mind. They disclose to the ardent Imagination glimpses of that great truth, · which comprehends all others; whose dim outlines can scarce be recognized by the most fervid fancy, that this universe is an infinite one; that however vast the field of human knowledge may become, there is still a vaster unknown beyond, and that this knowledge is the only means by which Imagination may be enabled to penetrate successfully into that unknown. The truths, then, which are thus constantly accumulating, in the progress of a nation, constitute the energy and life of its succeeding great minds; they form an eminence, from whose top the great philosopher catches the first glimmerings of new truths, as they rise, sunlike, from the bosom of the Infinite.

It is true that in a state of barbarism, as in childhood, the Imagination exercises a greater influence and moves the mind by a more mysterious power than in the advanced stages of Civilization. Superstition, in its various forms, overshadows all things, renders all notions vague and obscure in such an age. This is not, however, because the Imaginative faculty is stronger in the uneducated mind, but because Reason is weaker. Imagination is developed earlier than Reason in the childhood of the nation, as in the childhood of the man. As the reasoning faculties are unfolded, Imagination becomes, in a greater or less degree, subjected to them. But while it loses its awe-inspiring power, it gains strength in reality. For, if we judge of the strength of the imagination by the beauty and sublimity of its conceptions, -and we have no other standard, we invariably find the conceptions of the educated mind, in spite of this subjection, far beyond the comprehension of the barbarian. Nor is their superiority owing to the truth which Reason may find in them. The philosopher, under the exciting and ennobling influence of truths that have been demonstrated in past ages, looking into the future and perceiving, through the twilight of his Imagination, glimmerings of new truths, may call up a train of prophecies wilder than ever teemed in a poet's brain; he may give loose reins to his fancy and discern in the great undiscovered secrets more weighty than the Eleusinia; may

utter predictions more startling than Apollo's oracles. And what though Reason sanctions these ideals! What though she suggests that they may be right! What though revolving centuries demonstrate them to be true! Does the fact that they are true detract one tittle from their sublimity? Does it not rather add grandeur? Bacon, in his description of "The House of Solomon," in his "New Atlantis," has penned a list of the wildest fictions that were ever catalogued by the human mind. The years, in their progress, have verified them all. As truths, they are sublime. As efforts of the Imagination, they are still sublime. This element of truth, then, and the utility growing out of it, in modern philosophy, does not detract from the sublimity of its conceptions. The imaginative, or poetic, and reasoning faculties may coexist and grow together towards indefinite perfection. Old Ocean is no less sublime, no less an infinity of beauty, to day, when wafting the commerce of the world, than he was when peopled with myriads of nymphs. The lightning has been subjected to the bidding of man, but the thunder proclaims, as majestically as of old, "I am the Lord thy God." The heavens have been mapped out, but there is still poetry in their boundless blue, notwithstanding that fine extravagance of Hazlitt, that, since Jacob's dream, they have gone farther off and become astronomical.

If now we look to the field of Poetry and consider it separately, we find that İmagination, which Coleridge calls the soul of poetry, gains strength from the poems of former ages. It has been said that the true poet of to-day must begin where Homer began. Nothing can be more truthful. Of what avail to him, then, are the works of dead poets? It is in the spirit of Homer that he must be like him. Homer was truthful to nature. So must the modern poet be, for by his truthfulness to nature we judge him. He can hope to acquire this only by a life-time of study. The Iliad was not written in the youth of its author. He needed a large experience for the accomplishment of the work. The results of his labors the true poet of to-day may avail himself of in youth, and then, in the same spirit, penetrate into Nature farther than what Homer saw. Accordingly we find that all our great imaginative poets were men of wide experience, educated men, men who could read the human heart in all its emotions, who knew the wealth and fervor of affection, the keenness and subtlety of intellect. Hence their power to mould the fiery elements of humanity into their living creations of character; hence their secret influence over the souls of men.

So too the artist derives his inspiration chiefly from past knowledge. f he is successful beyond his predecessors, his success must be attributed

in a great measure, to the training he receives from them. His ideals of beaaty are made up of actual piece-meal beauties, arranged according as taste may dictate, so as to form one harmonious whole. His conceptions are based upon the nobleness which he has seem developed, from time to time, in the human form and face divine. Like the poet, he must assume truthfulness to nature as his highest object of ambition. If he succeeds in this, it must be by a deep and earnest study of nature, not only at the original fountain, but also, as she is embodied in the works of the great dead masters. By this aid alone can he hope to ac quire the marvelous power of waking the mute marble and canvas into life.

In a word then, if the Imaginative faculty, as developed in philosophy, in poetry and art, does not depend upon the materials collected by preceding minds for the beauty and sublimity of its conceptions, we should expect to find the most splendid trophies of literature, the sublimest triumphs of art in the history of barbarism. The world would not be startled at the appearance of a Newton among Hottentots, a Shakspeare among New Zealanders, a Powers among Ethiopians, or a Bacon Among the Camanches. But such phenomena have not yet occurred. On the contrary, we find that great Imaginative minds and great Imaginative words make their appearance, invariably, in the advanced stages of Civilization.

Again, the Christian element, which forms so important a part of Civilization, is favorable to the growth of the Imaginative faculty. The religious element is the most noble one in man, for it embodies the hopes and aspirations of his purely spiritual nature. It is that which prompts those infinite longings of his, in all the stages of his being, to penetrate the dark veil of mystery which shrouds the future life. That mystery always contains something grand, awe-inspiring, supernatural. It exerts a tremendous power over the mind. It calls forth, alike from the uneducated heathen and from the enlightened Christian, the grandest imaginative efforts which each is capable of making. The ideas of a Deity, a Heaven, a future state, then, which the mind forms, in the different stages of its development, become signs of the strength of the Imagination in different eras, and, by a comparison of these ideas, we may ascertain how much Christianity has contributed to its growth.

The religious notions of the savage are simple, vulgar, not distinguishing the Creator from the creature. As the mind develops, these notions become more fixed in their character, are elevated into ideas, growing and expanding, until, at length, they grasp infinity, eternity, and attain

to the sublimity of the Christian's conceptions of eternal truth. Yet truth is not the cause of this sublimity, for the Greek and Indian conceptions of the Deity are alike untrue, but all are willing to admit the immense superiority of the Greek. Indeed, there is a strong tendency among us moderns to regard all religious ideas, except the Christian, in the light of mere fancies. It is this tendency which has given to the Greek Theogony much of its renown as a product of the Imagination. We gaze at it with that deep interest, with which antiquity invests all things, and it seems a splendid maze of fictions. We do not sufficiently remember, however, that it was truth to the Greek mind; that it was built up step by step with all the earnestness and inspiration growing out of belief. Suppose a nation should arise a thousand years in the future and pronounce all our conceptions of the Deity false, efforts of the imagination merely, if such a supposition be not impossible. Their great superiority would, under these circumstances, at once, be evident to all. But this would be viewing them in the same light as we now view the Greek Theogony. We by no means wish to deny that this Theogony contains many beautiful thoughts, nay, many that may be called sublime. But it has nothing comparable to that grand old Hebrew poetry of the Bible, to read and study which is inspiration itself. It may be characterized as pretty, and is to be regarded as an effort of the fancy, of involuntary Imagination, rather than of Imagination directed by the will. In fact, the conceptions formed by the Greek mind of its Gods appear to be, to a great extent, either a mere overflow of animal spirits, or the result of some mental misery. Thus the winebibber had his Bacchus, the debauchee his Venus, as impersonations of ideas growing directly out of the enjoyment which each felt while temporarily reveling in his lubber-land of Happiness. So too the murderer had his Fury, the warrior his Mars. Not so, however, with the Christian mind. In that Imagination is voluntary. It has a purpose. It refers all its ideas, in all states of the mind, to one immutable, omnipresent, eternal Cause, and this is one great reason of its more elevated character.

We have tried the Imagination by all these proofs, and have found it not wanting. On the contrary, we find that it invariably grows and brightens by use. Nor is this strange; for it is a chief source of human happiness, a mighty engine of human progress. It will never die out till the race has attained to its destined perfection, till the plans of God in regard to man are all fulfilled.

A. M. W.

What Students Do.

"ARE students wholly given up to flirting and having what they call good times I never hear them talk of anything else."

So said Miss Cynthia Griggs, a sarcastic young lady in spectacles, after we had finished the recital of a college joke. And, as this inquiry of the strong minded Griggs is often propounded, we take this opportunity to say a few words upon the phases of college life.

These are almost innumerable, varying with the disposition and habits of the individual. In the regular round of college duty, there is no incident of special interest. It is always the same monotonous succession of recitation, study, and prayers, prayers, study, and recitation. Now, let any one enter college, and give his attention to these, and only these, what novelty or attraction for the outside observer will the recital of his student life possess? One day's record will answer for all.

For instance, take our young friend Jonathan Digge. We respect and honor Digge, and believe if he carries into life the same principles of action which mark him in college, he will become a useful and distinguished member of society. But what variety or charm will the rehearsal of Digge's daily life have for any person except those at home, who think their Jonathan the very pink of perfection? Suppose we take a verbatim extract from his Diary:

"TUESDAY, Oct. 16th. After prayers went to

"This morning rose and attended prayers. recitation. Was not called up. Went to breakfast. Had hash and fried potatoes. Must leave off drinking coffee, as it makes me sleepy in the forenoon. Walked to the Post-Office after breakfast. Studied till 11 o'clock. Went into recitation and made a rush. Practiced Langdonics at 12. I believe I am gradually growing straighter under Prof. Langdon's instruction. Went to dinner. After dinner studied till half past 4. Fizzled on the location of a German river. Must cram up Ancient Geography. Went to prayers and supper, and have been studying and writing dispute all the evening. It is half past ten, and I must go to bed."

This is a real report of Digge's daily life. On Wednesday's and Saturday's he may vary it with a little recreation, but, as he takes his exercise as he would medicine, not because it is palatable, but because it is needful, even his leisure is marked with an unvarying monotony.

Miss Griggs herself, the seeker after earnest and aspiring young