History of Civilization in England, Vol. 3 of 3

Our present knowledge of the laws of heat, may be briefly stated as branching into five fundamental divisions. These are: latent heat; specific heat; the conduction of heat; the radiation of heat; and, finally, the undulatory theory of heat; by which last, we are gradually discarding our old material views, and are accustoming ourselves to look upon heat as simply one of the forms of force, all of which, such as light, electricity, magnetism, motion, gravitation, and chemical affinity, are constantly assuming each other's shape, but, in their total amount, are incapable either of increase or of diminution.756 This grand conception, which is now placing the indestructibility of force on the same ground as the indestructibility of matter, has an importance far above its scientific value, considerable as that undoubtedly is. For, by teaching us, that nothing perishes, but that, on the contrary, the slightest movement of the smallest body, in the remotest region, produces results which are perpetual, which diffuse themselves through all space, and which, though they may be metamorphosed, cannot be destroyed, it impresses us with such an exalted idea of the regular and compulsory march of physical affairs, as must eventually influence other and higher departments of inquiry. Our habits of thought are so connected and interwoven, that notions of law and of the necessary concatenation of things, can never be introduced into one field of speculation, without affecting other fields which lie contiguous to it. When, therefore, the modern doctrine of conservation of force,757 becomes firmly coupled with the older doctrine of conservation of matter, we may rest assured that the human mind will not stop there, but will extend to the study of Man, inferences analogous to those already admitted in the study of Nature. Having once recognized that the condition of the material universe, at any one moment, is simply the result of every thing which has happened at all preceding moments, and that the most trivial disturbance would so violate the general scheme, as to render anarchy inevitable, and that, to sever from the total mass even the minutest fragment, would, by dislocating the structure, bury the whole in one common ruin, we, thus admitting the exquisite adjustment of the different parts, and discerning, too, in the very beauty and completeness of the design, the best proof that it has never been tampered with by the Divine Architect, who called it into being, in whose Omniscience both the plan, and the issue of the plan, resided with such clearness and unerring certainty, that not a stone in that superb and symmetrical edifice has been touched since the foundation of the edifice was laid, are, by ascending to this pitch and elevation of thought, most assuredly advancing towards that far higher step, which it will remain for our posterity to take, and which will raise their view to so commanding a height, as to insure the utter rejection of those old and eminently irreligious dogmas of supernatural interference with the affairs of life, which superstition has invented, and ignorance has bequeathed, and the present acceptance of which betokens the yet early condition of our knowledge, the penury of our intellectual resources, and the inveteracy of the prejudices in which we are still immersed.

It is, therefore, natural, that the physical doctrine of indestructibility applied to force as well as to matter, should be essentially a creation of the present century, notwithstanding a few allusions made to it by some earlier thinkers, all of whom, however, groped vaguely, and without general purpose. No preceding age was bold enough to embrace so magnificent a view as a whole, nor had any preceding philosophers sufficient acquaintance with nature to enable them to defend such a conception, even had they desired to entertain it. Thus, in the case now before us, it is evident, that while heat was believed to be material, it could not be conceived as a force, and therefore no one could grasp the theory of its metamorphosis into other forces; though there are passages in Bacon which prove that he wished to identify it with motion. It was first necessary to abstract heat into a mere property or affection of matter, and there was no chance of doing this until heat was better understood in its immediate antecedents, that is, until, by the aid of mathematics, its proximate laws had been generalized. But, with the single exception of Newton, whose efforts, notwithstanding his gigantic powers, were, on this subject, very unsatisfactory, and who, moreover, had a decided leaning towards the material theory, no one attempted to unravel the mathematical laws of heat till the latter half of the eighteenth century, when Lambert and Black began the career which Prevost and Fourier followed up. The mind, having been so slow in mastering the preliminaries and outworks of the inquiry, was not ripe for the far more difficult enterprise of idealizing heat itself, and so abstracting it, as to strip it of its material attributes, and leave it to nothing but the speculative notion of an immaterial force.

From these considerations, which were necessary to enable the reader to appreciate the value of what was done in Scotland, it will be seen how essential it was that the laws of the movement of heat should be studied before its nature was investigated, and before the emission theory could be so seriously attacked as to allow of the possibility of that great doctrine of the indestructibility of force, which, I make no doubt, is destined to revolutionize our habits of thought, and to give to future speculations a basis infinitely wider than any previously known. In regard to the movements of heat, we owe the laws of conduction and of radiation chiefly to France and Geneva, while the laws of specific heat, and those of latent heat, were discovered in Scotland. The doctrine of specific heat, though interesting, has not the scientific importance which belongs to the other departments of this great subject; but the doctrine of latent heat is extremely curious, not only in itself, but also on account of the analogies it suggests with various branches of physical inquiry.

What is termed latent heat, is exhibited in the following manner. If, in consequence of the application of heat, a solid passes into a liquid, as ice, for instance, into water, the conversion occupies a longer time than could be explained by any theory which had been propounded down to the middle of the eighteenth century. Neither was it possible to explain how it is, that ice never rises above the temperature of 32° until it is actually melted, no matter what the heat of the adjacent bodies may be. There were no means of accounting for these circumstances. And though practical men, being familiar with them, did not wonder at them, they caused great astonishment among thinkers, who were accustomed to analyze events, and to seek a reason for common and every-day occurrences.

Soon after the middle of the eighteenth century, Black, who was then one of the professors in the University of Glasgow, turned his attention to this subject.758 He struck out a theory which, being eminently original, was violently attacked, but is now generally admitted. With a boldness and reach of thought not often equalled, he arrived at the conclusion, that whenever a body loses some of its consistence, as in the case of ice becoming water, or water becoming steam, such body receives an amount of heat which our senses, though aided by the most delicate thermometer, can never detect. For, this heat is absorbed; we lose all sight of it, and it produces no palpable effect on the material world, but becomes, as it were, a hidden property. Black, therefore, called it latent heat, because, though we conceive it as an idea, we cannot trace it as a fact. The body is, properly speaking, hotter; and yet its temperature does not rise. Directly, however, the foregoing process is inverted, that is to say, directly the steam is condensed into water, or the water hardened into ice, the heat returns into the world of sense; it ceases to be latent, and communicates itself to the surrounding objects. No new heat has been created; it has, indeed, appeared and disappeared, so far as our senses are concerned; but our senses were deceived, since there has, in truth, been neither addition nor diminution.759 That this remarkable theory paved the way for the doctrine of the indestructibility of force, will be obvious to whoever has examined the manner in which, in the history of the human mind, scientific conceptions are generated. The process is always so slow, that no single discovery has ever been made, except by the united labours of several successive generations. In estimating, therefore, what each man has done, we must judge him, not by the errors he commits, but by the truths he propounds. Most of his errors are not really his own. He inherits them from his predecessors; and if he throws some of them off, we should be grateful, instead of being dissatisfied that he has not rejected all. Black, no doubt, fell into the error of regarding heat as a material substance, which obeys the laws of chemical composition.760 But this was merely an hypothesis, which was bequeathed to him, and with which the existing state of thought forced him to encumber his theory. He inherited the hypothesis, and could not get rid of his troublesome possession. The real service which he rendered is, that, in spite of that hypothesis, which clung to him to the last, he, far more than any of his contemporaries, contributed towards the great conception of idealizing heat, and thus enabled his successors to admit it into the class of immaterial and supersensual forces. Once admitted into that class, the list of forces became complete; and it was comparatively easy to apply to the whole body of force, the same notion of indestructibility, which had previously been applied to the whole body of matter. But it was hardly possible to effect this object, while heat stood, as it were, midway between force and matter, yielding opposite results to different senses; amenable to the touch, but invisible to the eye. What was wanting, was to remove it altogether out of the jurisdiction of the senses, and to admit that, though we experience its effects, we can only conceive its existence. Towards accomplishing this, Black took a prodigious stride. Unconscious, perhaps, of the remote tendency of his own labours, he undermined that doctrine of material heat, which he seemed to support. For, by his advocacy of latent heat, he taught that its movements constantly baffle, not only some of our senses, but all of them; and that, while our feelings make us believe that heat is lost, our intellect makes us believe that it is not lost. Here, we have apparent destructibility, and real indestructibility. To assert that a body received heat without its temperature rising, was to make the understanding correct the touch, and defy its dictates. It was a bold and beautiful paradox, which required courage as well as insight to broach, and the reception of which marks an epoch in the human mind, because it was an immense step towards idealizing matter into force. Some, indeed, have spoken of invisible matter; but that is a contradiction in terms, which will never be admitted, as long as the forms of speech remain unchanged. Nothing can be invisible, except force, mind, and the Supreme Cause of all. We must, therefore, ascribe to Black the signal merit that he first, in the study of heat, impeached the authority of the senses, and thereby laid the foundation of every thing which was afterwards done. Besides the relation which his discovery bears to the indestructibility of force, it is also connected with one of the most splendid achievements effected by this generation in inorganic physics; namely, the establishment of the identity of light and heat. To the senses, light and heat, though in some respects similar, are in most respects dissimilar. Light, for instance, affects the eye, and not the touch. Heat affects the touch, but, under ordinary circumstances, does not affect the eye. The capital difference, however, between them is, that heat, unlike light, possesses the property of temperature; and this property is so characteristic, that until our understandings are invigorated by science, we cannot conceive heat separated from temperature, but are compelled to confuse one with the other. Directly, however, men began to adopt the method followed by Black, and were resolved to consider heat as supersensual, they entered the road which led to the discovery of light and heat being merely different developments of the same force. Ignoring the effects of heat on themselves, or on any part of the creation, which was capable of feeling its temperature, and would therefore be deceived by it, nothing was left for them to do, but to study its effects on the inanimate world. Then, all was revealed. The career of discovery was fairly opened; and analogies between light and heat, which even the boldest imagination had hardly suspected, were placed beyond a doubt. To the reflection of heat, which had been formerly known, were now added the refraction of heat, its double refraction, its polarization, its depolarization, its circular polarization, the interference of its rays, and their retardation; while, what is more remarkable than all, the march of our knowledge on these points was so swift, that before the year 1836 had come to a close, the chain of evidence was completed by the empirical investigations of Forbes and Melloni, they themselves little witting that every thing which they accomplished was prepared before they were born, that they were but the servants and followers of him who indicated the path in which they trod, and that their experiments, ingenious as they were, and full of resource, were simply the direct practical consequence of one of those magnificent ideas which Scotland has thrown upon the world, and the memory of which is almost enough so to bribe the judgment, as to tempt us to forget, that, while the leading intellects of the nation were engaged in such lofty pursuits, the nation itself, untouched by them, passed them over with cold and contemptuous indifference, being steeped in that deadening superstition, which turns a deaf ear to every sort of reason, and will not hearken to the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely.

By thus considering the descent and relationship of scientific conceptions, we can alone understand what we really owe to Black's discovery of latent heat. In regard to the method of the discovery, little need be said, since every student of the Baconian philosophy must see, that the discovery was of a kind for which none of the maxims of that system had provided. As latent heat escapes the senses, it could not obey the rules of a philosophy, which grounds all truth on observation and experiment. The subject of the inquiry being supersensual, there was no scope for what Bacon called crucial experiments and separations of nature. The truth was in the idea; experiments, therefore, might illustrate it, might bring it up to the surface, and so enable men to grasp it, but could not prove it. And this, which appears on the very face of the discovery, is confirmed by the express testimony of Dr. Thomson, who knew Black, and was, indeed, one of the most eminent of his pupils. We are assured by this unimpeachable witness, that Black, about the year 1759 began to speculate concerning heat; that the result of those speculations was the theory of latent heat; that he publicly taught that theory in the year 1761; but that the experiments which were necessary to convince the world of it were not made till 1764,761 though, as I need hardly add, according to the inductive method, it was a breach of all the rules of philosophy to be satisfied with the theory three years before the experiments were made, and it was a still greater breach, not only to be satisfied with it, but to have openly promulgated it as an original and unquestionable truth, which explained, in a new manner, the economy of the material world.

The intellect of Black belonged to a class, which, in the eighteenth century, was almost universal in Scotland, but was hardly to be found in England, and which, for want of a better word, we are compelled to call deductive, though fully admitting that even the most deductive minds have in them a large amount of induction, since, indeed, without induction, the common business of life could not be carried on. But for the purposes of scientific classification, we may say, that a man or an age is deductive, when the favourite process is reasoning from principles instead of reasoning to them, and when there is a tendency to underrate the value of specific experience. That this was the case with the illustrious discoverer of latent heat, we have seen, both from the nature of the discovery, and from the decisive testimony of his friend and pupil. And a further confirmation may be found in the circumstance, that, having once propounded his great idea, he, instead of instituting a long series of laborious experiments, by which it might be verified in its different branches, preferred reasoning from it according to the general maxims of dialectic; pushing it to its logical consequences, rather than tracking it into regions where the senses might either confirm or refute it.762 By following this process of thought, he was led to some beautiful speculations, which are so remote from experience, that even now, with all the additional resources of our knowledge, we cannot tell whether they are true or false. Of this kind were his views respecting the causes of the preservation of man, whose existence would, he thought, be endangered, except for the power which heat possesses of lying latent and unobserved. Thus, for example, when a long and severe winter was followed by sudden warmth, it appeared natural that the ice and snow should melt with corresponding suddenness; and if this were to happen, the result would be such terrible inundations, that it would be hardly possible for man to escape from their ravages. Even if he escaped, his works, that is, the material products of his civilization, would perish. From this catastrophe, nothing saves him but the latent power of heat. Owing to this power, directly the ice and snow begin to melt at their surface, the heat enters their structure, where a large part of it remains in abeyance, and thus losing much of its power, the process of liquefaction is arrested. This dreadful agent is lulled, and becomes dormant. It is weakened at the outset of its career, and is laid up, as in a storehouse, from which it can afterwards emerge, gradually, and with safety to the human species.763

In this way, as summer advances, a vast magazine of heat is accumulated, and is preserved in the midst of water, where it can do man no injury, since, indeed, his senses are unable to feel it. There the heat remains buried, until, in the rotation of the seasons, winter returns, and the waters are congealed into ice. In the process of congelation, that treasury of heat, which had been hidden all the summer, reappears; it ceases to be latent; and now, for the first time, striking the senses of man, it tempers, on his behalf, the severity of winter. The faster the water freezes, the faster the heat is disengaged; so that, by virtue of this great law of nature, cold actually generates warmth, and the inclemency of every season, though it cannot be hindered, is softened in proportion as the inclemency is more threatening.764

Thus, again, inasmuch as heat becomes latent, and flies from the senses, not only when ice is passing into water, but also when water is passing into steam, we find in this latter circumstance, one of the reasons why man and other animals can live in the tropics, which, but for this, would be deserted. They are constantly suffering from the heat which is collected in their bodies, and which, considered by itself, is enough to destroy them. But this heat causes thirst, and they consequently swallow great quantities of fluid, much of which exudes through the pores of the skin in the form of vapour. And as, according to the theory of latent heat, vapour cannot be produced without a vast amount of heat being buried within it, such vapour absorbs and carries off from the body, that which, if left in the system, would prove fatal. To this we must add, that, in the tropics, the evaporation of water is necessarily rapid, and the vapour which is thus produced, becomes another storehouse of heat, and a vehicle by which it is removed from the earth, and prevented from unduly interfering with the economy of life.765

From these and many other arguments, all of which were so essentially speculative, and dealt with such hidden processes of nature, that even now we are not justified either in confidently admitting them or in positively denying them, Black was led to that great doctrine of the indestructibility of heat,766 which, as I have pointed out, has, in its connexion with the indestructibility of force, a moral and social importance even superior to its scientific value. Though the evidence of which he was possessed was far more scanty than what we now have, he, by the reach of his commanding intellect, rather than by the number and accuracy of his facts, became so penetrated with a conviction of the stability of physical affairs, that he not only applied that idea to the subtle phenomena of heat, but, what was much harder to do, he applied it to cases in which heat so entirely escapes the senses, that man has no cognizance of it, except through the medium of the imagination. According to his view, heat passes through an immense variety of changes, during which it appears to be lost; changes which no eye can ever see, which no touch can ever experience, and which no instrument can ever measure. Still, and in the midst of all these changes, it remains intact. From it nothing can be taken, and to it nothing can be added. In one of those fine passages of his Lectures, which, badly reported as they are,767 bear the impress of his elevated genius, Black, after stating what would probably happen, if the total amount of heat existing in the world were to be diminished, proceeds to speculate on the consequences of its being increased. Were it possible for any power to add to it ever so little, it would at once overstep its bounds; the equilibrium would be disturbed; the framework of affairs would be disjointed. The evil rapidly increasing, and acting with accumulated force, nothing would be able to stop its ravages. It must continue to gain ground, till all other principles are absorbed and conquered. Sweeping on, unhindered, and irresistible, before it, every animal must perish, the whole vegetable world must disappear, the waters must pass into vapour, and the solid parts of the globe be merged and melted, until, at length, the glorious fabric, loosened and dissolved, would fall away, and return to that original chaos out of which it had been evolved.768

These, like many other of the speculations of this great thinker, will find small favour with those purely inductive philosophers, who not only suppose, perhaps rightly, that all our knowledge is in its beginning built upon facts, but who countenance, what seems to me, the very dangerous opinion, that every increase of knowledge must be preceded by an increase of facts. To such men it will appear, that Black had far better have occupied himself in making new observations, or devising new experiments, than in thus indulging his imagination in wild and unprofitable dreams. They will think, that these flights of fancy are suitable, indeed, to the poet, but unworthy of that severe accuracy, and of that close attention to facts, which ought to characterize a philosopher. In England, especially, there is, among physical inquirers, an avowed determination to separate philosophy from poetry, and to look upon them, not only as different, but as hostile. Among that class of thinkers, whose zeal and ability are beyond all praise, and to whom we owe almost unbounded obligations, there does undoubtedly exist a very strong opinion, that, in their own pursuit, the imagination is extremely dangerous, as leading to speculations, of which the basis is not yet assured, and generating a desire to catch too eagerly at distant glimpses before the intermediate ground has been traversed. That the imagination has this tendency is undeniable. But they who object to it on this account, and who would, therefore, divorce poetry from philosophy, have, I apprehend, taken a too limited view of the functions of the human mind, and of the manner in which truth is obtained. There is, in poetry, a divine and prophetic power, and an insight into the turn and aspect of things, which, if properly used, would make it the ally of science instead of the enemy. By the poet, nature is contemplated on the side of the emotions; by the man of science, on the side of the understanding. But the emotions are as much a part of us as the understanding: they are as truthful; they are as likely to be right. Though their view is different, it is not capricious. They obey fixed laws; they follow an orderly and uniform course; they run in sequences; they have their logic and method of inference. Poetry, therefore, is a part of philosophy, simply because the emotions are a part of the mind. If the man of science despises their teaching, so much the worse for him. He has only half his weapons; his arsenal is unfilled. Conquests, indeed, he may make, because his native strength may compensate the defects of his equipment. But his success would be more complete and more rapid, if he were properly furnished and made ready for the battle. And I cannot but regard as the worst intellectual symptom of this great country, what I must venture to call the imperfect education of physical philosophers, as exhibited both in their writings and in their trains of thought. This is the more serious, because they, as a body, form the most important class in England, whether we look at their ability, or at the benefits we have received from them, or at the influence they are exercising, and are likely to exercise, over the progress of society. It cannot, however, be concealed, that they display an inordinate respect for experiments, an undue love of minute detail, and a disposition to overrate the inventors of new instruments, and the discoverers of new, but often insignificant, facts. Their predecessors of the seventeenth century, by using hypotheses more boldly, and by indulging their imagination more frequently, did certainly effect greater things, in comparison with the then state of knowledge, than our contemporaries, with much superior resources, have been able to achieve. The magnificent generalizations of Newton and Harvey could never have been completed in an age absorbed in one unvarying round of experiments and observations. We are in that predicament, that our facts have outstripped our knowledge, and are now encumbering its march. The publications of our scientific institutions, and of our scientific authors, overflow with minute and countless details, which perplex the judgment, and which no memory can retain. In vain do we demand that they should be generalized, and reduced into order. Instead of that, the heap continues to swell. We want ideas, and we get more facts. We hear constantly of what nature is doing, but we rarely hear of what man is thinking. Owing to the indefatigable industry of this and the preceding century, we are in possession of a huge and incoherent mass of observations, which have been stored up with great care, but which, until they are connected by some presiding idea, will be utterly useless. The most effective way of turning them to account, would be to give more scope to the imagination, and incorporate the spirit of poetry with the spirit of science. By this means, our philosophers would double their resources, instead of working, as now, maimed, and with only half their nature. They fear the imagination, on account of its tendency to form hasty theories. But, surely, all our faculties are needed in the pursuit of truth, and we cannot be justified in discrediting any part of the human mind. And I can hardly doubt, that one of the reasons why we, in England, made such wonderful discoveries during the seventeenth century, was because that century was also the great age of English poetry. The two mightiest intellects our country has produced are Shakspeare and Newton; and that Shakspeare should have preceded Newton, was, I believe, no casual or unmeaning event. Shakspeare and the poets sowed the seed, which Newton and the philosophers reaped. Discarding the old scholastic and theological pursuits, they drew attention to nature, and thus became the real founders of all natural science. They did even more than this. They first impregnated the mind of England with bold and lofty conceptions. They taught the men of their generation to crave after the unseen. They taught them to pine for the ideal, and to rise above the visible world of sense. In this way, by cultivating the emotions, they opened one of the paths which lead to truth. The impetus which they communicated, survived their own day, and, like all great movements, was felt in every department of thought. But now it is gone; and, unless I am greatly mistaken, physical science is at present suffering from its absence. Since the seventeenth century, we have had no poet of the highest order, though Shelley, had he lived, would perhaps have become one. He had something of that burning passion, that sacred fire, which kindles the soul, as though it came fresh from the altar of the gods. But he was cut off in his early prime, when his splendid genius was still in its dawn. If we except his immature, though marvellous, efforts, we may assuredly say, that, for nearly two hundred years, England has produced no poetry which bears those unmistakable marks of inspiration which we find in Spenser, in Shakspeare, and in Milton. The result is, that we, separated by so long an interval from those great feeders of the imagination, who nurtured our ancestors, and being unable to enter fully into the feelings of poets, who wrote when nearly all opinions, and, therefore, nearly all forms of emotion, were very different to what they now are, cannot possibly sympathize with those immortal productions so closely as their contemporaries did. The noble English poetry of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries is read more than ever, but it does not colour our thoughts; it does not shape our understandings, as it shaped the understandings of our forefathers. Between us and them is a chasm, which we cannot entirely bridge. We are so far removed from the associations amid which those poems were composed, that they do not flash upon us with that reality and distinctness of aim, which they would have done, had we lived when they were written. Their garb is strange, and belongs to another time. Not merely their dialect and their dress, but their very complexion and their inmost sentiments, tell of bygone days, of which we have no firm hold. There is, no doubt, a certain ornamental culture, which the most highly educated persons receive from the literature of the past, and by which they sometimes refine their taste, and sometimes enlarge their ideas. But the real culture of a great people, that which supplies each generation with its principal strength, consists of what is learnt from the generation immediately preceding. Though we are often unconscious of the process, we build nearly all our conceptions on the basis recognized by those who went just before us. Our closest contact is, not with our forefathers, but with our fathers. To them we are linked by a genuine affinity, which, being spontaneous, costs us no effort, and from which, indeed, we cannot escape. We inherit their notions, and modify them, just as they modified the notions of their predecessors. At each successive modification, something is lost and something is gained, until, at length, the original type almost disappears. Therefore it is, that ideas entertained several generations ago, bear about the same relation to us, as ideas preserved in a foreign literature. In both cases, the ideas may adorn our knowledge, but they are never so thoroughly incorporated with our minds, as to be the knowledge itself. The assimilation is incomplete, because the sympathy is incomplete. We have now no great poets; and our poverty in this respect is not compensated by the fact, that we once had them, and that we may, and do, read their works. The movement has gone by; the charm is broken; the bond of union, though not cancelled, is seriously weakened. Hence, our age, great as it is, and, in nearly all respects, greater than any the world has yet seen, has, notwithstanding its large and generous sentiments, its unexampled toleration, its love of liberty, and its profuse, and almost reckless, charity, a certain material, unimaginative, and unheroic character, which has made several observers tremble for the future. So far as I can understand our present condition, I do not participate in these fears, because I believe that the good we have already gained, is beyond all comparison greater than what we have lost. But that something has been lost, is unquestionable. We have lost much of that imagination, which, though, in practical life, it often misleads, is, in speculative life, one of the highest of all qualities, being suggestive as well as creative. Even practically, we should cherish it, because the commerce of the affections mainly depends on it. It is, however, declining; while, at the same time, the increasing refinement of society accustoms us more and more to suppress our emotions, lest they should be disagreeable to others. And as the play of the emotions is the chief study of the poet, we see, in this circumstance, another reason which makes it difficult to rival that great body of poetry which our ancestors possessed. Therefore, it is doubly incumbent on physical philosophers to cultivate the imagination. It is a duty they owe to their own pursuits, which would be enriched and invigorated by such an enlargement of their resources. It is also a duty which they owe to society in general; since they, whose intellectual influence is already greater than that of any other class, and whose authority is perceptibly on the increase, might have power enough to correct the most serious deficiency of the present age, and to make us some amends for our inability to produce such a splendid imaginative literature as that which our forefathers created, and in which the choicest spirits of the seventeenth century did, if I may so say, dwell and have their being.