soul elates instead of being cramped and repressed, and he is ennobled. A man who is in the habit of hearing such dramas and such music can hardly commit a theft, a robbery, or any brutal outrage.

Dry and theoretical Ethics are very well, but for children it is far more effective to show them the ugliness of the Bad and the beauty of the Good.

A town or country that has given that blessing to the people has counteracted dryness and brutality.

CONCLUSION.

THE leading thought of this Essay has been that Emotion and Intellect are not absolutely antagonistic, but that they are complementary states of mind, and that by cultivating the one element we can also cultivate the other.

From this point I have viewed the origin and nature of Science, Methodical Thought and Philosophy. I have given a brief history of Philosophy, and traced its intricate course from early Grecian history down to our days. The one striking fact we have gathered is, that, though our emotions may be modified, tempered, and elevated through our intellect, still all Knowledge, in order to become truly ours, must be durchlebt, 'lived through,' must become a mood, must become emotional.

I have further applied these results to practical education, and indicated a criterion for the proper balance between Emotion and Intellect, and have pointed out the abnormal dispositions of these two necessary elements in certain individuals and nations. And, finally, I have attempted to give the educational remedies for such mental diseases. A man in whom

Emotion and Intellect are properly balanced will feel his thoughts and think his feelings, will be most likely to do the right actions, to be good and wise, to be a moral and active member of this vast human community.

APPENDIX.

LANGUAGE AND THE EMOTIONS.

THE following passage in De Quincey's Walking Stewart is well worth noticing:-'The character of a nation may be judged of in this particular, by examining its idiomatic language. The French, in whom the lower forms of passion are constantly bubbling up from the shallow and superficial character of their feelings, have appropriated all the phrases of passion to the service of trivial and ordinary life, and hence they have no language of passion for the service of poetry, or of occasions really demanding it, for it has been already enfeebled by continual association with cases of an unimpassioned order. But a character of deeper passion has a perpetual standard in itself, by which as by an instinct it tries all cases, and rejects the language of passion as disproportionate and ludicrous where it is not fully justified. “Ah, Heavens!" or "O my God!" are exclamations with us so exclusively reserved for cases of profound interest, that on hearing a woman even (i.e. a person of the sex most easily excited) utter such words, we look round expecting to see her child in some situation of danger. But in France, “Ciel !" and "O mon Dieu !" are uttered by every woman if a mouse does but run across the floor. The ignorant and the thoughtless, however, will continue to class the English character under the phlegmatic temperament, whilst the philosopher will perceive that it is the exact polar antithesis to a phlegmatic character.'

There is a great amount of truth in this passage. The