while in Boston education is a hobby which every man feels bound to ride, and the schools are constantly under discussion. In Boston, too, a much larger proportion of the children of wealthy families attend the public schools. cine and theology, as though quantity was more important than quality, and these are generally poorly endowed, and too often seek to attract students by making it easy to obtain diplomas. There is much room for improvement even in New York. The fashionable amusements of New York do not differ essentially from those of the great cities of Europe. There is nothing specially American about them, unless it be the fact that they are borrowed from all the countries of Europe, and that people enter into them with the same spirit that is manifested in Wall Street. The most universal amusement is travel; it may be to spend a day at Coney Island or a year in Europe, or a summer at some watering-place like Newport or Saratoga. The New Yorker must go somewhere or lose caste. There are those who seek genuine recreation in these migrations, but with most it is simply a change of place without much change of occupation. The great summer hotels are simply places where the rage for dress and display can be gratified more easily than in the city, and the men carry their business with them. The Wall Street brokers have their branch offices in or near these hotels, connected by private wires with the city, and speculation goes on as usual. At Newport, Mr. Bennett, of the New York Herald, has taken the lead in introducing various European sports, but they still have a foreign air about them. He has built a casino, with tennis courts, lawn tennis, and other games. He has introduced polo and fox hunting, and done much to make yachting fashionable. At Saratoga the races, which go on day after day for weeks, are the chief amusement. At Martha's Vineyard and a number of other places, "camp meetings constitute the pièce de résistance of the entertainment. These religious meetings are protracted for weeks, and represent all varieties of belief and unbelief, order and disorder. They would make a very interesting study by themselves, as a singular development of American life. The New Yorker has an infinite variety of summer resorts to choose from. He may join the saturnalia at Coney Island or the Methodist camp meeting at Martha's Vineyard. He may build a palatial “cottage at aristocratic Newport, or exhibit his wife, daughters, and diamonds to the crowds which throng the great hotels of Saratoga or Long Branch. He may rest quietly in some mountain farm house, or wander about from place to place in dusty, crowded railway trains. He may do almost anything but stay at home. There seems to be something wanting, however, in the character of city education or of city life in general in America. Attention has lately been called to the fact that but few of the leading men in the city of New York were born or educated there. Almost all are from the country towns, and a large proportion from New England. It is not strange that a great city should attract the most enterprising young men from the country, although there is more reason for this in England than in America. Here the electoral laws, which require all members of Congress and other officials to be residents in the districts from which they are chosen, and the fact that country members of the State Legislatures are always in the majority, make it undesirable for those seeking political preferment to live in the great cities. It is a positive advantage to live elsewhere. Very few of the statesmen of America were born in great cities, and very few live in them now. Washington is the least desirable of all places, as its citizens are not represented in the government at all. Young men go to the cities to make money, and New York has special attractions to lead them there; but young men born and educated in the city ought to have the advantage over strangers. We should expect to find among her leading men a large percentage of city-born men, but this is not the case. Leaving out of account those who owe their position to wealth inherited from parents who came to New York from the country, we find very few distinguished men in the city who were born or educated there. Neither do we find them in other parts of the country. Our great men do not come from New York city. It would not be fair to attribute this fact altogether to the schools of New York, or to the American system of education, which is as well applied there as anywhere; but we are justified in concluding that, while city life in America is adapted to call out and develop all the energies of those who enter it as adults, its influence over the young is unfavorable to the highest development. This is less apparent in Boston and Philadelphia than in New York, and it may result in some degree from the fact that the possession of wealth is regarded in New York as the one avenue to influence, and money as the measure of everything. This idea is unfavorable to the development of character, and it has far less influence in the towns and villages of America than it has in the cities. As a general rule, it is not true in these-in the Northern States at least --that a man's influence is measured by his wealth. Character has more influence than money; and children grow up with a clear conception of the high importance of moral and intellectual character. Then, again, country life in America favors individualism. The despotism of fashion and opinion is almost unknown. There is opportunity for calm thought, reason, and resolve-for communion with the eternal forces of Nature, and thoughts of God. Life does not present itself as simply a struggle between man and man for the possession of money. The education in the schools may be the same, but the more important education of the environment is totally different. It is undoubtedly a misfortune to be born and educated in New Yorkagine how exhilarating it is. It is surpassed by nothing but City. On the other hand, cities offer special advantages for professional studies, and New York has such schools which receive students from all parts of the country. They are not the most famous, and perhaps not the best, in the country; but they are progressive, and ought to become the best. They suffer, like all similar institutions in America, from competition. There is no economy of forces in the higher education here. We multiply schools of law, medi A new amusement has been found for the winter, which has become very popular. This is yachting on the ice. The Hudson river offers every facility for this, and it has become very popular. It is quite as exciting as the wildest stock speculation in Wall Street. Sixty files an hour is not an uncommon speed for one of these curious craft, and on a fine day, when the ice is favorable, the river is alive with them. Great skill is necessary in the management of these boats, especially in racing; but there have been few serious accidents, and after watching these races one may almost believe in the possibility of the experience of Jules Verne's hero, Phileas Fogg. At Omaha, the old winter amusement of sleighriding is, of course, as popular as ever, when there is snow enough on the ground to make the roads good; and one who has never tried it can hardly im the ice yacht, and has the advantage of being more social The theatres of New York are very numerous and of great variety, including one belonging to an Episcopal clergyman and conducted on religious principles. It can hardly be said that religion or morality has much influence over the others, although some of the managers are men of high character. A friend of mine who lately made the tour of them all was inclined to think that those patronized by the roughs in the Bowery were less immoral than those patronized by the residents on Fifth Avenue. There is nothing distinctively American in the theatre in New York. It is as far as possible an imitation of Paris, and European actors and actresses come here to make their fortunes after they have won a reputation in Europe. New York applauds because Paris has applauded, and no one would think of a New York reputation as of any value in itself. Still the New Yorkers, as a whole, are a theatre-loving race. They are ready to pay, to applaud, and to lionize popular players, and they find amusement in doing so. It is a matter of dispute whether they honestly enjoy good music as much as they enjoy immoral plays, but there is certainly a class of people in New York about whom there can be no doubt. Good music always attracts large audiences, and there are amateur clubs that do good work. Our cities have produced some very superior singers, but they go to Europe for their training. A late English traveler, who seems to have made a study of the theatre in New York, concludes that it is in every respect superior to that of London. He may be right. He is certainly generous; and, as he evidently knows much more about it than I do, I am quite willing to allow his judgment to balance mine without any controversy. Of unlawful amusements, such as gambling and others, New York has her full share, graded for all classes of society, from the gilded palaces on Fifth Avenue down to the dens of Water Street. There is far more of vice and immor begrimed, drunken women were fighting in a ring of twenty or thirty men, who were cheering them on. The very fact that they were all English made their filth, profanity, and brutality more repulsive. I could not help feeling a sort of personal responsibility for it. I have seen other such scenes in London; but have never happened upon one like it in New York. Nor have I ever heard criminal amusements defended and justified by men of good standing in society, as I have in England. Every form of vice exists and flourishes in New York as it does in London; but it does not present itself to the eye and ear in so repulsive a manner. Of the several American cities which I have mentioned, New York is generally regarded as the most attractive place of residence. The fact that it is the largest and richest of our cities gives it certain advantages over all others. But the most English city in the United States is Boston, and New England people of the old English stock prefer it to all other cities. Washington was formerly the least attractive of our cities; but since the war there have been great changes there. No city in the world has more beautiful government offices, and great efforts have been made to improve the streets and adorn the city. The hotels still swarm with office-holders and office-seekers; but they seem to me to be generally of a better class than when I first visited the city. There is certainly much less drunkenness and barbarism to be seen in the public rooms and about the Capitol. But, aside from this nomadic horde, there is now an established resident society in Washington, which is becoming every year more agreeable and more numerous. There are many who already regard it as the most attractive city in the country. It is, at least, unlike all other cities. A num ality than in Boston or Philadelphia. It is more open, more general, and more fashionable. In some respects it is worse than London; in others, perhaps, better. I can not see that republican institutions affect the general morality of our cities in any favorable way whatever; if anything, the i. fluence is unfavorable. There is less inclination to execute or tolerate repressive laws. The old idea of sternber of novels have appeared within a few years, professing republican morality has long since been forgotten, if it ever had any actual existence. In the towns and villages there is some trace of it. The general standard of morality in these is higher than in Europe, and it is an advantage not to have the evil example of an aristocracy which considers itself raised above the moral laws. In the cities there is an aristocracy of wealth which is worse than that of birth. As in other aristocracies, there are noble examples of Christian manhood and philanthropic spirit among the wealthy men of our cities. There is more readiness to give away money for benevolent purposes than can be found in any other part of the world. This spirit is not confined to religious men, although they are the principal givers. Appeals of all kinds go first to them. But, in spite of all the good that can be said of New York, it is no better morally than the great cities of Europe. If we contrast it with the towns and villages of this part of America, the difference is, very much greater and more unfavorable than would be found in contrasting village and city life in any part of Europe with which I am familiar. This is due, however, to the corrupting influence of wealth, or to the failure of republican institutions to secure good government and high morality, but quite as much to the fact that New York is not an American city. The majority of the population is foreign. The worst of the immigrants landed upon our shores remain there, and there is no form of vice known in Europe which they have not brought with them and domesticated in this city. One sees something of this in London; but, in spite of its foreign population, London is still an English city. Its vices, as well as its virtues, are distinctively English. I do not mean to imply that there is anything better or more attractive in the vice of London than in that of New York. On the contrary, it has always struck me as more brutal and repulsive. I have never seen anything in any other city which shocked me so much as a sight I saw in broad day in a street leading from Southampton Row on one of my first visits to London. Two ragged, to give faithful pictures of life in Washington; but they are unworthy of attention. They are low, vulgar, and scandalous, without literary merit, and presenting a view of society too absurd to be even founded on fact. There is vice and corruption enough in Washington, and it is easy for a man to find it who seeks for it; but there is no more of it in Washington than in New York. These books would not deserve mention if they had not been widely circulated. It I were to select a place of residence for myself it would be Boston, rather than Washington or New York. Philadelphia is too narrow and provincial to be thought of. There is something of reserve and hauteur about Boston society which is not altogether agreeable to strangers, and is criticized and ridiculed by Americans from other parts of the cou try; but it is only on the surface, and is hardly noticed at all by persons who have lived in Europe. It contrasts Strongly with the free-and-easy manners of the West, where the stranger of to-day becomes an old resident to-mor ow; but there is a dignity about it which is very attractive. To Torrow a slang Western phrase, a Boston man does not "slop over." Boston boasts of her culture, and New York delights to sneer at the word; but there is a reality in it. There is culture in New York; but its influence is limited to a narrow circle. In Boston, it rules the city and gives tone to society. There is no other city which has any right to call itself the Athens of America. There is some reason for giving this name to Boston. New York is more like Corinth in the days of her greatest prosperity. Even the Irish are somewhat subdued by the atmosphere of Boston, and make much less trouble than they do in New York. If I were to choose a permanent residence in America, it would, as I have said, certainly be in Boston. Its climate is not all that could be desired. Its east winds are unfavorable to weak lungs, and in winter disagreeable to all; but New York is not much better, and Boston has the advantage of having clean streets. The suburban towns are all beautiful, and there is an endless variety of charm ing drives in all directions. Cambridge is close at hand, with the literary advantages of a university town, and the city itself is provided with everything necessary for study or amusement. But Boston is attractive to me because there is something restful in life there. It is more like a European city. There is not the mad rush and whirl which distracts me in New York, and is still worse in Chicago. Men do business on a grand scale, and Boston capital is found in all the great cities and all the great enterprises of the West; but men seem to take life more calmly than in New York. They are not in such a desperate hurry. So, in society, there is much less extravagance and display, much less dissipation, much more quiet and sensible enjoyment. The great unsolved problem in city life is that of government. Even the smaller cities find it difficult to secure a tolerable administration, as the majority of voters are nontaxpayers, and generally ignorant naturalized foreigners. The larger cities are literally at the mercy of the organized, mob. There is nothing in America so utterly disgraceful as the government of New York. There is no dignity, no honesty, no common-sense in it. For years the city was ruled by the "Tweed ring," whose history is known to all the world. A few men literally captured the city, and used the public money to enrich themselves and bribe the voters. It was only when the taxes became intolerable that the city was aroused to appeal to the State courts to punish these robbers, who had violated the law for years with impunity. The city was the stronghold of the Democratic party, and the Tweed ring was tolerated because it always secured a Democratic majority of any required amount, without any reference to the number of voters. The overthrow of this infamous ring was the work of two or three newspapers in the city, which exposed its criminal character so fully that the respectable portion of the Democratic party no longer dared to support it, and the taxpayers of both parties united to put it down. Then a new experiment was tried. A new charter was secured, which, to a certain extent, deprived the city of the right of self-government. The authority was divided between the city and the State. In some respects this has proved an advantage; but, on the whole, the experiment is a failure, and the best men in New York are in favor of going back to self-government. The absurdities of the present system were fully developed last winter. The streets of the city were in such a filthy condition that a mass meeting of physicians declared that there was danger of pestilence. In fact, there was an epidemic of small-pox, typhus, and diphtheria. I have never seen anything in Europe or Asia to equal the streets of New York at that time. For many weeks the most important streets were filled with piles of snow, filth, garbage, and ashes. The whole city was roused; public meetings were held, and the most vigorous resolutions passed. A committee of the most wealthy and influential citizens was chosen, but the streets were not cleaned until it was done by the spring rains. The epidemic continued to rage until Nature had done its work. The plan of relief devised by the committee of citizens was the appointment of an officer by the mayor to take charge of the department of street cleaning, but the mayor had no authority to appoint such an officer. It was necessary to secure an act of the State Legislature to modify the charter and give him this authority. The legislature was in session, and was appealed to, in the name of humanity, to pass this act without delay. But here it was found that there was a political objection to this. The mayor of the city was a Democrat, the legislature was Republican, and street-cleaning was a means of bribing voters. If this authority were given to the mayor, he would appoint a Democrat, who would use the money appropriated to clean the streets to buy Democratic votes. Street-cleaning must be a perquisite of the Republicans. The idea that street-cleaning had nothing to do with politics was repudiated as heresy. What could be more pitiable than this? Other departments are conducted on the same principle. The mayor of the city is a gentleman, a Catholic Irishman, but the board of aldermen can hardly be described in polite language. They spent the winter in trying to organize, neither faction of the Democratic party having a majority, and neither wishing to unite with the few Republican members. A division of the spoils was, however, finally agreed upon, and the organization completed. The proceedings of this unique assembly were published in the daily papers, and if any New Yorker ever read them without shame and indignation he deserved to be an alderman himself. The present system of government is certainly a disgrace to any civilized nation. The reign of Tweed was no better. It remains to be seen whether one can be devised that will secure wise and honest administration, and at the same time maintain the principle of universal suffrage in a city where the majority of the voters pay no taxes, and are not natives of the country, have no idea of political honesty, and are the wil ling tools of unscrupulous politicians. Nothing will be done until the respectable men of both parties realize the danger, and agree to lay aside their political differences and work together to save the city from ruin. There was some approach to this last winter, on the question of cleaning the streets, but it was not a genuine awakening to a sense of all the dangers of the situation, and this may not come until Socialism has organized the masses for a crusade against monopoly. Something of the same evil is seen in other cities. Philadelphia has had its ring of Republican Tweeds, but the division of property and the system of taxation is very different there, and the evil results have not been so marked. The Irish element there is unimportant. Washington is governed by the National Congress. Boston is still an American city, and has not yet fallen into the hands of any ring; but there is much that is very unsatisfactory in her city government and public expenditure. The difficulty is a general one, and applies to all the cities in the country. It is more apparent in New York, on account of the number and character of its population. The theory of the present day in English-speaking lands is that local self-government is the surest safeguard against oppression. We regard it as the corner-stone of our national system, but it is producing some unexpected results, and already it has been found necessary to control it in some respects by general laws. It is probable that still more stringent limitations will be adopted. Our city governments are more corrupt, more extravagant, and more wasteful than any other, but our town and village governments often resemble them in some points. Here, as in the cities, it is generally the non-taxpayers who vote taxes and create town debts. There is as yet no limitation on taxation, but many States have limited the amount of debt which can be contracted by the cities and towns. The workingclasses are slow to discover that in the end they pay the taxes. They see nothing but the immediate advantage of spending the money of the rich. Local self-government has many advantages, but small taxes and economy in public expenditure do not seem to be among them. The administration in the towns is generally honest, even where it is extravagant and stupid, but it needs control. As our people are only too ready to try experiments, we shall probably continue to make experiments in city government until we find some satisfactory solution to this thus far unsolved problem. There are other questions connected with city life which are not peculiar to American cities, and which do not need discussion here, because we have done but little toward solving them. Pauperism, crime, and all forms of irreligion flourish in our cities as in Europe, and vigorous efforts are made to overcome them, with more or less success; but we have discovered no new methods, and have still much to learn. New York is not behind other cities in this work of Christian charity, and this is the best thing that can be said in her behalf. We are accustomed to boast of the rapid growth of our cities, of their vast commerce, of the enterprise of our merchants, of our costly private and public buildings, and our people are more and more inclined to leave the country to crowd the cities; but it seems to me that the nation has more to fear than to hope for in these great cities. They are centres of intellectual life and of trade, but also of feverish extravagance and corruption, both moral and political corruption. This growth has been too rapid for health. Wealth has been acquired too easily. The population is too heterogeneous. The most prosperous cities are the most eorrupt. Who can say where all this is to end? Like most of my countrymen I am inclined to optimism in all that concerns America. The Anglo-Saxon race is not wont to borrow trouble from the future, or even to provide for emergencies before they arise. But it is certain that our cities do not improve as they advance. There are dangerous tendencies in our city life which must be overcome, or they will develop and endanger the existence of the republic. The Contemporary Review. OF THE INEQUALITY AMONGST US. Plutarch says somewhere that he does not find so great a difference betwixt beast and beast, as he does betwixt man and man; which is said in reference to the internal qualities, and the perfection of the soul. And, in truth, I find, according to my poor judgment, so vast a distance betwixt Epaminondas and some that I know, who are yet men of common sense, that I would willingly enhance upon Plutarch, and say that there is more difference betwixt such and such a man than there is betwixt such a man and such a beast: "How much, alas, One man another doth surpass! and that there are as many and as innumerable degrees of mind, as there are cubits betwixt this and heaven. But touching the estimate of men, 'tis strange that, ourselves excepted, no other creature is esteemed beyond its proper qualities. We commend a horse for its strength and sureness of foot, "Tis thus we praise the horse that mocks our eyes, and not for his rich caparisons; a greyhound for his speed, not for his fine collar; a hawk for her wing, not for her jesses and bells. Why, in like manner, do we not value a man for what is properly his own? He has a great train, a beautiful palace, so much credit, so many thousand pounds a year; all these are about him, not in him. You will not buy a pig in a poke. If you cheapen a horse, you will see him stripped of his housing clothes, you will see him naked and open to your eye; or if he be clothed, as they anciently were wont to present them to princes to sell, 'tis only on the less important parts, that you may not so much consider the beauty of his color, or the breadth of his crupper, as principally to examine his limbs, eyes, and feet, which are the members of greatest use: "When kings steeds clothed, as 'tis their manner, buy, Lest a short head, a thin and well-raised crest, A broad-spread buttock, and an ample chest, Should all be propt with an old beaten hoof, To gull the buyer when they come to proof." Why, in giving your estimate of a man, do you value him wrapt and muffled up in clothes? He then discovers nothing to you but such parts as are not in the least his own; and conceals those by which alone one may rightly judge of his worth. "Tis the price of the blade that you inquire into, and not of the scabbard. You would not, peradventure, bid a farthing for him if you saw him stripped. You are to judge him by himself, and not by what he wears. And, as one of the ancients very pleasantly said, "Do you know why you repute him tall? You reckon withal the height of his clogs," whereas the pedestal is no part of the stature. Measure him without his stilts, let him lay aside his revenues and his titles, let him present himself in his shirt; then examine if his body be sound and sprightly, active, and disposed to perform its functions. What soul has he? Is she beautiful, capable, and happily provided with all her faculties? Is she rich of what is her own, or of what she has borrowed? Has fortune no hand in the affair? Is she settled, even, and content? This is what is to be examined, and by that you are to judge of the vast differences betwixt man and man. Is he 'The wise, who well maintains An empire o'er himself; whom neither chains, Such a man is raised five hundred fathoms above kingdoms We see that nature only seeks for ease, Compare with such a one the common rabble of mankind, stupid, mean-spirited, servile, instable, and continually floating with the tempest of various passions, that tosses and tumbles them to and fro, all depending upon others, and you will find a greater difference than betwixt heaven and earth; and yet the blindness of common usage is such that we make little or no account of it. Whereas, if we consider a peasant and a king, a nobleman and a clown, a magistrate and a private man, a rich man and a poor, there appears a vast disparity, though they differ no more (as a man may say) than in their breeches. In Thrace the king was distinguished from his people after a very pleasant and rare manner. He had a religion by himself, a god of his own, whom his subjects might not presume to adore, which was Mercury, whilst on the other hand, he disdained to have anything to do with theirs, Mars, Bacchus, and Diana. And yet they are no other than pictures, that make no essential dissimilitude; for as you see actors in a play representing a duke or an emperor upon the stage, and immediately after, in the tiring-room, return to their true and original condition; so the emperor, whose pomp so dazzles you in public. The Emperor Julian, being one day applauded by his courtiers for his exact justice, "I should be proud of these praises," said he, "did they come from persons that durst condemn or disapprove the contrary, in case I should do it." All the real advantages of princes are common to them with men of moderate condition ('tis for the gods to mount winged horses and feed upon ambrosia); they have no other sleep nor other appetite than we; the steel they arm themselves withal is of no better temper than that we also use; their crowns do neither defend them from the rain nor sun. good may ultimately result from such an entertaining halfjoke. Many a clever person may be induced to make ob Diocletian, who wore a crown so fortunate and revered, resigned it to retire himself to the felicity of a private life And some time after, the necessity of public affairs requir-servations himself, within his own immediate sphere. And ing that he should reassume his charge, he made answer to those who came to solicit him to it: "You would not offer to persuade me to this, had you seen the fine condition of the trees I have planted in my orchard, and the fair melons I have sowed in my garden." In the opinion of Anacharsis, the happiest state of government would be where, all other things being equal, precedency should be regulated to the virtues, and repulses to the vices of men. When King Pyrrhus prepared for his expedition into Italy, his wise counselor Cyneas, to make him sensible of the vanity of his ambition: "Well sir," said he, "to what end do you make all this mighty preparation?” "To make myself master of Italy," replied the king. "And what after that is done?" said Cyneas. "I will pass over into Gaul and Spain," said the other. "And what then?" "I will then go to subdue Africa; and lastly, when I have brought the whole world to my subjection, I will sit down and live content at my ease." "Fod God's sake, sir!" replied Cyneas, "tell me what hinders you, if you please, from being now in the condition you speak of? Why do you not now at this instant settle yourself in the state you say you aim at, and spare the labor and hazard you interpose?" "The end of being rich he did not know, I will conclude with an old versicle that I think very pat to the purpose: Tuesday, May 18, 1824.-This evening at Goethe's, in company with Riemer. Goethe talked to us about an English poem, of which geology was the subject. He made, as he went on, an impromptu translation of it, with so much spirit, imagination, and good humor, that every individual object stood before us, with as much life as if it were his own invention at the moment. The hero of the poem, King Coal, was seen, in his brilliant hall of audience, seated upon his throne, his consort Pyrites by his side, waiting for the nobles of the kingdom. Entering according to their rank, they appeared one by one before the king, and were introduced as Duke Granite, Marquis Slate, Countess Porphyry, and so on with the rest, who were all characterized by some excellent epithet and joke. Then followed Sir Lorenzo Chalk, a man of great possessions, and well received at court. He excuses his mother, the Lady Marble, on the ground that her residence is rather distant. She is a very polished and accomplished lady, and a cause of her non-appearance at court, on this occasion, is, that she is involved in an intrigue with Canova, who likes to flirt with her. Tufa, whose hair is decked with lizards and fishes, appears rather intoxicated. Hans Marl and Jacob Clay do not appear till the end; the last is a particular favorite of the queen, because he has promised her a collection of shells. Thus the whole went on for a long time in the most cheerfut tone; but the details were too minute for me to note the further progress of the story. "Such a poem," said Goethe, "is quite calculated to amuse people of the world; while at the same time it diffuses a quantity of useful information, which no one ought properly to be without. A taste for science is thus excited amongst the higher circles; and no one knows how much such individual observations, drawn from the natural objects with which we are in contact, are often the more valuable, the less the observer professionally belongs to the particular department of science." "You appear, then, to intimate," returned I, "that the more one knows, the worse one observes." "Certainly," said Goethe, "when the knowledge which is handed down is combined with errors. As soon as any one belongs to a certain narrow creed in science, every unprejudiced and true perception is gone. The decided Vulcanist always sees through the spectacles of a Vulcanist; and every Neptunist, and every professor of the newest elevation-theory, through his own. The contemplation of the world, with all these theorists, who are devoted to an exclusive tendency, has lost its innocence, and the objects no longer appear in their natural purity. If these learned men, then, give an account of their observations, we obtain, notwithstanding their love of truth as individuals, no actual truth with reference to the objects themselves; but we always receive these objects with the taste of a strong, subjective mixture. "I am, however, far from maintaining that an unprejudiced, correct knowledge is a drawback to observation. I am much more inclined to support the old truth, that we, properly speaking, have only eyes and ears for what we know. The musician by profession hears, in an orchestral performance, every instrument and every single tone, whilst one unacquainted with the art is wrapped up in the massive effect of the whole. A man merely bent upon enjoyment sees in a green or flowery meadow only a pleasant plain, while the eye of a botanist discovers an endless detail of the most varied plants and grasses." "Still, everything has its measure and goal, and as it has been said in my 'Goetz von Berlichingen,' that the son, from pure learning, does not know his own father, so in science do we find people who can neither see nor hear through sheer learning and hypothesis. Such people look at once within; they are so occupied by what is revolving in themselves, that they are like a man in a passion, who passes his dearest friends in the street without seeing them. The observation of nature requires a certain purity of mind, which can not be disturbed or pre occupied by anything. The beetle on the flower does not escape the child; he has devoted all his senses to a single, simple interest; and it never strikes him that, at the same moment something remarkable may be going on in the formation of the clouds to distract his glances in that direction." "Then," returned I, "children and the child-like would be good hod-men in science.” “Would to God!” exclaimed Goethe, “we were all nothing more than good hod men. It is just because we will be more, and carry about with us a great apparatus of philosophy and hypothesis, that we spoil all.” Tuesday, March 8, 1831.—Dined to-day with Goethe, who began by telling me tha he had been reading "Ivanhoe." "Walter Scott," said he, "is a great talent; he has not his equal; and we need not wonder at the extraordinary effect he produces on the whole reading world. He gives me much to think of; and I discover in him a wholly new art, with laws of its own." We spoke then of the fourth volume of the biography, and came upon the subject of the Dæmonic before we were aware. "In poetry," said Goethe, "especially in that which is unconscious, before which reason and understanding fall short, and which therefore produces effects so far surpassing all conception, there is always something dæmonic. |