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THE PHILOMATHESIAN.

Vol. 1.

May, 1834.

No. 11.

AUTHORS ARE PARTIAL TO THEIR WIT, 'TIS TRUE;
BUT ARE NOT CRITICS TO THEIR JUDGMENT TOO?"

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INTELLECTUAL CHARACTER OF DES CARTES.

INTELLECTUAL superiority can be determined, only by the general principles on which the mind acts-the celerity of its combinations and analyses, the facility with which it discriminates truth from falsehood, and the independence it exhibits in all its inquiries. Few indeed, are those who unite these excellences, and few can advance well founded claims to this distinguished notoriety. But as the possession of some of them is indispensible even to the preferment of such a claim, so this superiority is measured by the degree in which they exist in one mind, above that in the mass around. Untiring energy is often found where no brilliant qualities dwell; unbounded ambition, or unconquerable zeal, where no true genius sheds her golden rays; still they are at most, but the substitutes for natural talents,-they merely shine, where these dazzle, or belch volumes of smoke, where these flame. Wonders, no doubt, have been accomplished in the scientific and literary world by dint of unremitted effort; Herculean labors have often been performed under the stimulus of these passions; but we know of no splendid achievements, without, at least, a partial union of those qualities, without abilities to guide, and unwavering perseverence to stretch them to the utmost. Yet the brightest genius, with energy which is never abated, can no more than give a pleasing prospect of unusual proficiency, in any profession. Unnumbered obstacles may arise-or critical circumstances wrench every intellectual muscle. Defi

ciency in the mind of a great man is sure to be revealed, standing in bold relief even from lofty and high souled acts, and is sure to throw into the shade merits that in other men would be prodigies. Partial weaknesses however, bind them to earth, and create a general sympathy, through all ranks of men who can feel and appreciate the sentiments of the truly excellent, though laboring under error. But reverential astonishment is not excited for such labors however great.-We are more awe-struck, at the performances of some true Philosopher as we see him darting from truth to truth which, hitherto concealed in mystery, had nevertheless given its influence to man, and tracing each effect to its primary cause, lays open extensive fields of science. He feels superlative eminence. There is something proudly exalted in the idea, that one person should ascend such a height of distinction, and cast a glance over the ages of the past, and those slumbering in futurity, and behold himself still unrivalled, where wondering millions are rising to admire, but never to equal. Such are they, whose memory lives-their virtues and their vices, their mental vigor and defects, their benefit or injury to the common welfare of man. It is in this last sense, perhaps, that the name of Des Cartes will endure through time, while the greatness of his mind has been almost forgotten. That he commit ted errors, is true--but that he possessed the most splendid talents, is no less so. They were not only dazzling, but substantial, as his discoveries in abstruse mathematics, proficiency in the learned languages, and almost every science may well attest. A mind, bold, comprehensive, and acute, rapid in its movements as the stormdriven chariot of cloud, a brilliant imagination, yet perhaps deficient in judgment, constituted its outlines He acquired the languages with incredible facility, mathematics were his, almost by intuition, and moral science was keenly scrutinized by his penetrating intellect. In his attempt to apply mathematical reasoning to this, and metaphysics, he did more to evince his originality than heighten his reputation. He moved in an intellectual world of his own creation. Discarding the learning, the notions and partiality, the principles of others, he sought empyreal glory of his own, that should be burnished more and more by the successive flight of years. The object was grand, tho' selfish, and the result shows that its grandeur attracted unbounded admiration, but the mighty hand of time dashed it from its pedestal, to be remembered only as an eccentricity of this universal genius. Nature herself could scarcely furnish elements sufficient for his plastic hand to mould, and his all-grasping

mind seemed discontented with Encyclopedian knowledge. With Bacon's rules of philosophising he might have been more than a Newton, and with the calm patience of either, he might have stood unrivaled as a philosopher. In his retirement, in the bustle, and din of the camp, the same unsated desire for the discovery of new truths, still reigned supreme within him; kindling an enthusiasm in his soul, which at once enveloped, and elevated it where kindred spirits could hardly reach. Like a Colossus, he stood alone, enshrined in the sciences he had discovered or augmented.

His rules of Logic were worthy of their author, and the principles he there avows should have been his abiding principles, in all his researches. They would have led him at least on safe ground, and if he had not amazed the world with his startling hypotheses, and visionary projects, would have secured a reputation unchangeable as the stars of the firmament. In metaphysics he was a Pyrrhonist, probably from the habit early acquired of distrusting the conclusions of his predecessors in the science, and being thus led to fear his own might at some time suffer the same fate. Thence he determined so to base his speculations, that the most sceptical could not refuse to adopt them, and so would he lead them gradually from darkness to light. This proved the altar of self-sacrifice. Truth here gave way to his favorite propensity, and consequently what would have been his greatest monument of glory, is the cause of ridicule, and obscurity. As he, who has left the solid ground, to found a superstructure on a hill-side of quick-sand, must soon expect to see his labors lost, so Des Cartes' speculations, rising from false premises, could not resist the gradual operations of truth. He seemed determined precminently to be the artificer of his fortune. Even in adopting the notions of other men, he moulded them anew, so as to give presumptive evidence that he would have entertained similar views, if no one had before him. Superstition and bigotry, could not long trust him with the free exercise of his powers, lest he should sever the almost impenetrable shield that covered them,, and expose their hideousness to the sirenized gaze of their trembling votaries. Much time was necessarily spent in unprofitable theological controversies, which might have checked ostensibly the independence which ever lived undiminished at his heart. There are few whom we contemplate with more delight, and at the same time regret, than Des Cartes. Leibnitz and Campanella, had brilliant and penetrating minds; but they had their sphere. Many philosophers of far less talent will be remembered for their usefulness,

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while he will be mentioned as a curiosity, rather than as conferring any essential benefit on mankind. He ranged with freedom the whole field of Nature, confined only by the bounds of his invention, and those of human learning. His peculiar failing was a reliance on the phantasies of a fruitful imagination, instead of the plain, simple dictates of common sense; and those excellent talents exhibit nothing so wonderful at the present day, as the fatal effects of misdirected effort. DE SE.

NAPOLEON'S DEPARTURE TO ST. HELENA.

THE white flags of England proudly are waving,
As they float on the breeze in beauty unfurled,
And the sea's foaming billows in fury are raving,
As they roll by the man who wept for a world.

BRITAIN'S high nobles gaze on the blue waters,
As proudly they lash the fair ship in their roar,
And with them are seen her beautiful daughters,
To gaze on a man-now a monarch no more.

YE may look on him now, bereft of his crown,
Ye nobles and daughters of Albion's isle!
Ye may look on him now and dread not his frown,
Nor fearing his sceptre, nor courting his smile.

He comes not to conquer-in pride of his power,
Enrobed in his glory, a host to defy;

As a captive he comes in adversity's hour!
How bravely to yield him, how bravely to die!

BENEATH his dread sceptre the Nations bowed low,
With Europe's best blood he hath crimsoned the field,
He would have in his pride a world for his foe,
But his legions have vanished and he too must yield.

NAPOLEON'S colors no longer are flying,

But those of the Bourbons' are streaming on high;
His tri-colored banners are over him sighing,
While the white flags of Louis flash out to the sky.

As a captive he goes to the sea-beaten Isle,
And looks back on FRANCE as she fades from his view;
There is grief in his eye, and despair in his smile,
As he bids to her spires a final adieu.

-1834.

THE PYRAMIDS.

"Tis night o'er Egypt, and her deep blue sky
Is bright with stars; the gentle zephyrs sigh,
Melodious through her citron groves, and high
The cedars bend them, as the wind sweeps by.
The moon is up, and sheds her mild soft beam
O'er palace, tomb, and tower, and silvery stream.
And the far ruins, softened in the light,
Might seem the dwellings-not of past delight.
Oh! 'tis a land of beauty, ever bright,

E'en in her ruins glorious; though the might

That made her feared has fled; her power gone,
Though carnage foul has stain'd with blood each stone;
Though superstition's bloody scourge may wave
Her blood red banner-o'er her glory's grave-
Though every field is fattened with her gore,
Her hearts best blood outflowing from each pore ;—
Still she is beautiful-the land of song,

Where sages studied, while yet earth was young;
The land of thousand monuments, that save
Her earlier history, from oblivion's grave—

The proud memorials of her zenith day,
Untouched by time, unwasted by decay;

And while earth stands, they too shall stand, and be
Proud registers of Egypt's history.-

Yes, they have stood the test; and trying time

Has wrought her mightiest changes, since their prime. They've seen, sweep o'er the world, full many a change, From peace to war,-of passions and revenge

They've seen their own bright land, the queen of earth;
And echoing the song of joy and mirth.

They've seen her fall-sink from her high degree,
Enslaved by conquerers-black with infamy.

They've seen proud Rome, her eagle flag unfurl'd,
Trample in triumph o'er a conquered world.
They've seen the fiery Moslem, in his zeal,
Blanching the earth with terror, as his steel
Arm'd with the Koran's thunders, red with blood,
Waved o'er the lands, compelling them to God;
They've seen the fellow trophies of their land,
Wasted by years, or by the spoiler's hand-
Her golden Thebes, and Memphis, and the shrine
Of Jove, are levelled by the tooth of time;
And Memnon's golden harp-of ancient day,
Waked into music by the sunbeams play.
Yet shall they stand, and haply they may view
Changes, e'en stranger than the world e'er knew.
Again, perchance, the Ethiope may resume,
The sceptre of that land, again relume
The light of science in his darkened mind,
And be again the glory of his kind--
Or they may view another age of night
Brood o'er the world, extinguishing all light.

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