GREAT men are always simple-strikingly so; simple in their thoughts and feelings, and in the expression of them. Nor is this an unimportant characteristic. For to one who reflects how few artless men there are how much there is that is factitious, in the character of almost every one whom he meets; most of all, in the character of those who ape this same simplicity; how much many men consult fashion, custom, and mode for their thoughts and feelings, instead of their own hearts and minds, till they almost cease to have any of their own; and when it is not so, how much rules of thinking and of feeling insensibly influence us;-to such a one, true simplicity will appear worthy the name of a rare virtue, and further, of an important one-especially, if he considers how much even the smallest act of cunning or affectation impairs the honesty and high-mindedness of him who allows it. As such, we might express our admiration of it in the great man, and derive from thence a strong recommendation. But it may bring out more important results to ask why, especially by what peculiar mental habits it is, that minds which might, with the best reason, make a parade of their powers, are apparently so utterly unconscious of them, and so thoroughly simple. A chief reason is, that a great mind is completely absorbed in the objects before it, to the entire forgetfulness of self. The objects must be great certainly, thus to fill the mind; there must also be great powers to grasp them. Both these things are supposed in the truly great man. But the peculiar feature of his mind is this complete absorption in the objects of contemplation. It is carried forth beyond the cares and complexities of what most men call self, and for a time, at least, identifies itself with its object. His own powers, as things of selfish pride, are the last to concern his thoughts, and are only instruments of bringing before him the truth. In this he approaches what may be regarded as perfect mental action. For what are these powers but instruments? And what is the mind in itself apart from its objects? Truths so plain seem to be forgotten by those who idolize mental power in themselves and others, more than they revere the truth, on which it is, or should be employed. To this it may be added, that the great mind is generally absorbed by single objects. The one truth which absorbed the mind of Newton, was that of the law of universal gravitation. All the energies of Bacon's mind were active in the elucidation of the single truth, that facts are at the foundation of reasoning. The same has been true of those who have made plain great moral truths. Indeed the end of every mind which acts to purpose is more or less definitely the perception of unity. But many minds mistake the single truth which explains the whole subject, or assuming that which is false, or taking up minor relations, or seeking complication for the love of it, go a-raving amid cycles and epicycles, extent of knowledge only making the confusion greater. You shall see men disquieting themselves in vain, and plunging into hot and endless debate, all for the overlooking of some single truth which puts an end to all question. It is this tendency towards unity dimly seen in ordinary minds, which is brought out into a distinct habit, in minds of a higher order, and gives them their peculiar oneness and simplicity. But we have not spoken of that which leads to this absorption of the mind in its objects. It is the love of truth-of all truth. Not that other minds have none of it, but it lies mixed, often insensibly, with other desires which reflect upon self, or reach out towards some foreign end, and thus mar its simplicity. There is the love of favor, the ambition of rivaling some admired forerunner or competitor, the desire of seeming superior to the vulgar crowd, the love of victory in discussion. More laudable than these, there is the desire of success in some pursuit or project, or a desire of acquiring what may be useful. More nearly affecting the mind's operations, there is the love of novelty for novelty's sake, the love of system, and the desire of bringing forth to the world something new. Besides these there are a thousand prejudiced feelings, aside from the simple love of the truth, which influence men in forming their opinions and in searching after truth. It is easy to see how all these differ in their nature from love of truth for the truth's sake, and, of course, when blended with it destroy its simplicity. It is not a sense of duty even which mainly influences the great mind in its pursuit of truth. The love of it in such a mind is a passion, an appetite, which asks simply the reception of its natural food; an appetite ever enlarging itself, "growing by that it feeds on." From these peculiar habits of mind, namely, absorption in its objects, and for the most part in single objects, guided by a simple love of the truth, there arises further, great simplicity in the feelings with which the truth is contemplated when it is discovered. There is nothing of a feeling of arrogance in the great mind-a feeling that it has established a separate domain, about which it alone is competent to legislate, and which none but itself may touch or enter. Nor is there any thing like envy in such a mind. On the contrary, he is ready to welcome with the hand and the heart of a brother, and with warm gratitude, any who shall make new revelations of that which he most loves and adores. Nor has he any such love of system as would lead him knowingly to overlook any one truth. Still less is there a feeling of triumph after discussion, except as the triumphs of truth are his own. Least of all is there a feeling of pedantry, the self satisfied glee with which little minds chuckle over their small apartment in the world of mind, ready to give battle to any one who shall dispute that it is a magnificent temple. The feelings of a great mind are as different from these as possible. His is the simplicity of reverence. He gazes upon some truth, till it rises before him in its full dimensions, and to it he pays humble adoration. Inspired by this feeling he forgets himself, and comes forth with simplicity to deliver his message to others, seeking not their praise, and caring not for their censure. He needs not, and does not comprehend the arts which others use to attract applause, for he can afford to be simple. His again is the simplicity of wonder. "Nil admirari" is a maxim of none but common minds, who can contrive to wrap themselves up in self-sufficiency of intellect, while they trust in it and laugh at the absurdity and childishness of him who finds any thing at which to wonder. Thus such an one will exultingly go forth in the full pride of scientific attainment, esteeming all things as certain when he has ascribed them to the laws of nature; not thinking of the mysterious agency ever at work to maintain those laws. Such a mind has no wonder, because it has no powers to carry it forward into the mysterious and illimitable in the universe. Another feeling of the great mind in view of great objects, is that of simple ignorance. It has gone forth, and seen its own narrow limits, and then it pauses and is humble, conscious how like a child it is. Such are some of the features which a great mind exhibits, and such the results to which it tends, the expression of which is marked by that simplicity of which we have spoken. G. CONTENTMENT. GIVE me a heart with all its wants supplied, |