bells of a neighbouring church gave the signal for publick prayers. I followed a number of the inhabitants, most of whom had books in their hands, into a very old place of worship, called, I think, All Saints. The house was but thinly attended; and as the service was in an unknown tongue, my own reflections were my only monitors.

On returning to the Crown, I found that Mr. G., our travelling companion, who speaks German, had procured a carriage and horses to convey us to Friburg, and that it was proposed to set off immediately-We were to ramble along the banks of the Rhine to the falls, near which our coachman was to meet us.

The falls of the Rhine have been so often described, that I need not be very particular. Having heard so much of their grandeur, and having seen the mighty cataract of Niagara, and the grand cascades at Trenton and Cahoos, in the State of New York, I must say I was a good deal disappointed. No one, however, can contemplate such an object as this, without emotions of awe and sublimity. The best view is from a wooden balcony projecting from the rock, close to the precipice over which the greatest volume of water descends. The river is chafed into foam and fury, by the enormous masses of rocks which lie in its sloping bed, for some distance before it is projected into the deep abyss below. The falls of Niagara, and those of the Cahoos, descend in nearly an unbroken sheet; but here the waters are divided into a number of different cascades, the most impetuous of which rushes between two huge rocky pillars. The surrounding natural scenery is bold and picturesque, but is very much debased by several offensive objects. The cultivated fields in the neighbourhood of Niagara weaken very much the effect of the mighty

cataract; but the dreary and savage character of the landscape around the Cahoos, is much more in harmony with the wildness of such scenes. The falls of the Rhine are about seventy feet high. There is what they call an ancient castle, on an island just in front of the cataract, in a darkened chamber of which, a camera obscura is placed, for the exhibition of this evermoving picture. We admired it exceedingly. As to the castle, it seemed to me nothing but a paltry old mill, which ought to be levelled to the earth, as it spoils the scene. It belonged, however, to an ancient noble family, who flourished before the foundation of Schaffhausen.

Our road passed through the part of Germany adjacent to Switzerland; and I felt no little regret at bidding a long farewell to the charming scenery of that romantick country. We travelled all day, in the famous district called the Black Forest. A considerable part of the land is now under the cultivation of an orderly and industrious people; and the forests are no longer infested by those bands of robbers, who frequently committed such horrid deeds of murder and rapine on the traveller, in former times. We passed several ancient castles and monasteries, and as the shades of night began to gather round us, we entered a thick and extensive wood. We had all fallen into that sort of reverie which most travellers experience towards the close of a monotonous day's ride-the usual conversation was of course suspended, and each mind was busily occupied in musings on the past, and in anticipations of the future; or was indulging in those thrilling and strange fancyings, which the ancient deeds of war and crime committed in this forest, were peculiarly calculated to excite. The darkness of the evening increased; and as the road became more diffi

cult, our coachman was obliged to leave the box, and lead along the horses. In this situation, as we were winding round a narrow valley, just at the verge of the forest, we were all roused by a light starting up in the wood, on the opposite side of the valley, which we had a few moments before passed. On looking out of the carriage, I saw, at some distance, the grim visages of three men, by the torch light, running towards us. Our coachman informed us that there was no habitation near this spotand as spectres and banditti are both common in the forests of Germany-our driver seemed most fearful of the first-He quickly mounted the box, and urged forward his horses, in spite of the darkness and danger of the road, till the apparitions were left far behind.

When we were safely lodged for the night at an insignificant inn, the adventure I have just described, and the superstitious fears of our driver, afforded us a good deal of amusement-but we were none of us disposed to be very merry during its continuance; for, as the poet

says,

Affairs that walk

(As they say spirits do) at midnight, have In them a wilder nature than the business That seeks despatch by day.

Monday, August 31st.-We set off early this morning on our road to Friburg. Though we have been some time in Germany, in this part of it I could not perceive any remarkable difference between the manners and customs of the people, and those of Switzerland-the change from Schaffhausen to the Black Forest was not so great as we often noticed in passing from one Swiss Canton to another. Our route did not conduct us over the most interesting parts of the Black Forest, which includes one of the largest chains of mountains in Germany. About twelve miles from Friburg, we entered a deep pass in

the hills, named the Hellenthal, Jo Infernal Valley: through this, General Moreau, the only French general of any distinction I recollect ever to have seen, except a dancing master, made his famous retreat in 1796. It has quite a terrifick appearance, the rocks being heaped on each other, as if by some tremendous convulsion of nature. Near this spot I examined a grist mill, on the Dreysam, a small stream which passes near Friburg; it was miserably deficient in every mechanical convenience, and might have been constructed in the early periods of Teutonick history, for the use of the warriors who annihilated the power of the old Ro

mans.

There are three towns in Europe which have the name of Friburgthe one in Switzerland, which I have already spoken of-the place where the celebrated mineralogist, Werner, resided-and the city in which we now are. Luckily there are but few objects of curiosity to detain us here. The Cathedral, or Minster, is said to be one of the most beautiful and perfect old churches in all Germany. It was founded by Conrad, Duke of Zähringen, about 1150, and the tombs of the princes of that name, now in the building, are magnificent. Its tall and well proportioned spire, and its large windows of painted glass, are also admired very much. The image of the Duke is on the sign of our hotel, where we found a sumptuous table d'hote spread, on our arrival. We saw, marching through the streets, a corps of a thousand of the best looking and well disciplined soldiers in the world-they formed, once, a portion of Napoleon's grand army.

After dinner, having made further arrangements with our driver to carry us to Strasburg, we set out on the road to that place. After passing through a highly cultivated country, interspersed with villages and farm houses, we stop

ped, late in the evening, at a convenient inn, just beyond the walls of an old town. I must not forget to mention, that we passed, on the road, the Archduchess Michael, and all her train-and truly the Russians made quite a formidable appearance. She rode in a fine barouche, and we saw her distinctly. Her female attendants had full and fair features, though we did not think them handsome.

"Methought she looked at us-So every one believes that sees a Duchess." (To be continued.)

FOR THE CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE.

MENTAL SCIENCE.

Elements of the Science. The first principles of every science are few and simple; but their relations, combinations and uses, are very numerous. This is emphatically true of mental philosophy.

By elements we mean the first principles of the science. If we speak of language, letters are its first principles or elements; of the science of numbers, the ten digits are its elements. So of mental science, the faculties of the mind, and the rule or principle of classification in examining the phenomena, are the elements. Strictly speaking, the faculties, capabilities, or properties, are the elements; but inasmuch as we cannot proceed a single step without observing some general law of mental operations, which discovers the primary relations of those phenomena to the character of their respective faculties, we consider it right to incorporate the principle of classification with the elements of the science. But if any object to this, we have no very strong objection to its being considered a secondary principle.

Mind is the subject, its proper

ties or faculties are the elements; and the whole mental phenomena, developing their character, relations and uses, are to be classed and described, to form a complete system of mental science.

Our first inquiry respects the mind itself, as that to which all the elements belong.

Of mind itself, we are not conscious, but only of its exercises. We are, however, as certain of the existence of mind as of any fact whatever. There are several ways in which we arrive at certainty; the most important which concern the present philosophy are intuition, consciousness, and inference.

The first two are simple and difficult of explanation; the latter is complex and admits of extended illustration, but it belongs more properly to dialectics. We omit, for the present, any extended illustration of either; but it may be proper to say, that what we know by consciousness and intuition is certainty. The difference between these two mental acts is perhaps not very wide, yet they are easily distinguished one from the other. By one we take cognizance of exercises and properties,-and by the other, of their simple and necessary relations. We know by consciousness the exercises, thought, feeling, and volition; and we know by intuition, that something thinks, feels and wills. We know by consciousness, the difference between perception and feeling; and by intuition that there is a difference between the capacity, or adaptedness, to perceive and to feel.

The famous enthymeme of Des Cartes, "cogito, ergo sum," does not describe the mental process, because the knowledge of our thought and existence are simultaneous, without reasoning on the subject, and with complete certainty. The process is too simple for explanation, and the fact is intuitive: no argument can ascertain it with more certainty.

Of the essence of mind, we are profoundly ignorant, and so we must remain, while our spirits are so intimately connected with their material habitations. How it may be when our minds are disembodied, must remain hidden from our view, while we dwell on earth. We can speculate concerning it, but knowledge we have none. There are, however, some things concerning the mind which we can certainly know,-others, satisfactorily: and there are some others of which we may have probable knowledge. Take the following specimen for illustration. The mind's existence is certainly, because intuitively known,-its operations, because of them we are conscious, its immateriality, because the nature of all its known properties differs from those of matter, its immortality, because its moral relations, and revealed destiny require it, according to that gospel which brings life and immortality to light.

The mind's moral character may be satisfactorily known, because its feelings may be compared with a perfect moral rule, capable of being examined. The expansion of its capacities, when it shall be separated from the body, is probable, because this is according to its known history in its present frail tabernacle, and in harmony with some intimations of God's revelation.

We are aware that it has been said, mind is only exercise; and because we are conscious of nothing antecedent, therefore nothing else of mental character exists. This sentiment has been variously modified. By some it has been made the ground of materialism; and great efforts have been made to prove that matter, peculiarly organized, is capable of thought, feeling and volition. By others it has been contended, that all those exercises commonly styled mental, are produced immediately by the author of our being. The conclusion VOL. IX. Ch. Adv.

from this doctrine, as it seems to us, must be, that there is only one intelligent agent in the universe. Others say that action is the essence of mind, and that those evanescent, ever varying phenomena, called thoughts, feelings and volitions, constitute the mind.

It is worthy of remark, that the latter speculation has been applied in all its principles to matter. Thus one class of philosophers has attempted to deprive us of mind, another has attempted the same with matter, and both have been equally successful and rational. As well might a man undertake to prove that he has no existence, as that he has no permanent subject of the constantly diversified intellectual phenomena; that is, has no mind distinct from exercises. We know not how to guide any man's mental process to convince himself that he exists, or that he has a mind, if he denies or doubts the facts. A man who will not trust his consciousness and his intuition, should rather seek relief from medicine than philosophy.

We think it sound pneumatology, and unassailable truth, to assert that we have intuitive knowledge of both existence and mind. We should think it quite as philosophical to talk of motion without any thing being moved, as of mental exercises without a mind-antecedent to, and distinct from, the exercises themselves.

What is mind? We cannot answer essentially, but we can answer the question relatively: and that with rational satisfaction. It is a spiritual substance, which thinks, feels and wills. It is the permanent subject of those numerous and diversified phenomena, of which we are conscious, and which differ in their nature and laws from all that pertains to matter. This is mind-simple, uncompounded, not consisting of parts or organs, but indivisible and unique. Its capacities we shall attempt to describe,

2 A

but not its essence. It is proper here to state, there is a mental process, in the form of an argument, approximating certainty, for the immateriality of mind. The process is similar to that by which we prove the existence of matter. By our senses we take cognizance of certain properties, which must belong to something beyond human cognizance. This something, we call matter-not because we know its essence, but can judge of its properties. The material substance, in all its masses, atoms and forms, is unintelligent. We take this upon the authority of our senses; and their testimony is corroborated by the history of its creation and government, in the word of God's revelation to man. Those properties of matter-each, and all together, unintelligent-must be long to something in its nature unintelligent. Now by consciousness we know certain properties and phenomena, entirely different in their uature from all the phenomena and properties of matter. This character is intelligence; hence, the substance to which they belong must be entirely different from matter: we call it mind, intelligent spirit. If there be any truth in philosophy, the results of this process are truths. But after all, this is not the process by which the mind originally arrives at these results. Every intelligent man takes the knowledge of his own existence, and the nature of mind, as far as he knows any thing of its nature, upon the authority of his own intuition; his knowledge of the phenomena of mind, upon the authority of his consciousness; and his knowledge of external objects, upon the authority of his senses. We must take these things upon such authority, supported by the intimations of revelation, without philosophical proof; but if any man cannot do this, we should think his best remedy would be a mad-house. When facts are known, we may

class them, use them as arguments, point out their relations, and show their dependence one upon another. But a man, who has so employed his philosophy as to produce a doubt or denial of his own intuition, consciousness, senses and experience, must be left to the enjoyment of his blank scepticism.

Our next inquiry is the principle of classification, by which we distribute and arrange the phenomena of mind. We introduce this inquiry in this connexion, for reasons which will be obvious from its use; and because many different classifications have been made by metaphysicians. The latter reason seems to render it important that we should carefully examine and settle this principle, before we examine the capacities and their phenomena.

Classification is the disposition or distribution of our mental exercises, according to some principle, or character, cognizable by consciousness. Some have made two classes, some three, some six, some nine, twelve, and some many more. In some systems, a preconceived theory of faculties forms the basis of classification, which saves much time and accurate painful investigation of facts, but lacks truth and utility. Others have adopted the relationsof mental phenomenato internal and external objects of thought, and thus have multiplied the faculties of mind to a great number. We shall not stop to examine those theories and principles; although they have had, and it is likely they will yet have, their advocates. It will be sufficient for our purpose, to define what we consider the true principle of classification.

The resemblance, or difference, in the nature of exercises, is the principle. To state it more fully-All mental exercises which are of the same nature, however they may be modified and combined, we put together, and distribute them into as many classes as we find pheno