17. The annihilation' I had just experier ced caused a sensation of fear, and made me feel that I could not exist forever. Another thing disquieted me. I did not know that I had not lost during my sleep some part of my being. I tried my senses. I endeavored to know myself again. At this moment the sun, at the end of the course, ceased to give light. I scarcely perceived that I lost the sense of sight; I existed too much to fear the cessation of my being; and it was in vain that the obscurity recalled to me the idea of my first sleep.

BUFFON.

The COMTE DE BUFFON, a celebrated French naturalist, was born at Montbard, in Burgundy, Sept. 7, 1707, and died in Paris, April 16, 1788. More than two-thirds of his fourscore years were passed in unremitting literary labor. He was rich, luxurious, fond of display-yet he went to bed every night at nine o'clock, and begun his appointed task every morning at six. His numerous works have been reprinted many times in France, and rendered into all, or nearly all, the languages of Christendom. His mind was not as analytical and accurate as some of the most distinguished naturalists; but he, more than all others, inspires the reader with a love of nature, and transforms the dry details of science into poetry and eloquence of the sublimest kind. The translation here given from his chapter on "Man," will give a notion of the fertility of his imagination, under the guidance of science.

TRti

IV.

34. THE MAN OF IDEALITY.

O the man of fine feeling, and deep and delicate and creätive thought, there is nothing in nature which appears ōnly as so much substance and form, nor any connections in life which do not reach beyond their immediate and obvious purposes. Our attachments to each other are not felt by him merely as habits of the mind given to it by the customs of life; nor does he hold them to be only as the goods of this world, and the loss of them as merely turning him forth an outcast from the social state; but they are a part of his joyous being, and to have them tōrn from him is taking from his very nature.

2. Life, indeed, with him, in all its connections and concerns, has an ideal and spiritual character, which, while it loses nothing of the definiteness of reality, is ever suggesting thoughts, taking new relations, and peopling and giving action to the imagination. All that the eye falls upon and all that touches the heart run off into airy distance, and the regions into which the sight stretches

1 An ni`hi la' tion, the act of reducing to nothing, or non-existence;

the act of destroying the identity or form of a thing.

are alive and bright and beautiful with countlèss shapings and fair hues of the gladdened fancy. From kind acts and gentle words and fond looks there spring hosts, many and glorious as Milton's angels; and heavenly deeds are done, and unearthly voices heard, and forms and faces, graceful and lovely as Uriel's,' are seen in the noonday sun.

3. What would only have given pleasure for the time to another, or, at most, be now and then called up in his memory, in the man of feeling and imagination lays by its particular and short-lived and irregular nature, and puts on the garments of spiritual beings, and takes the everlasting nature of the soul. The ordinary acts which spring from the good-will of social life take up their dwelling within him and mingle with his sentiment, forming a little society in his mind, going on in harmony with its generous enterprises, its friendly labors, and tasteful pursuits. They undergo a change, becoming a portion of him, making a part of his secret joy and melancholy, and wandering at large among his far-off thoughts. All that his mind falls in with, it sweeps ǎlong in its deep, and swift, and continuous flow, and bears onward with the multitude that fill its shōrelèss and living sea.

4. So universal is this operation in such a man, and so instantly does it act upon whatever he is concerned about, that a double progress is going on within him, and he lives, as it were, a twofold life. Is he, for instance, talking with you about a Northwest Passage, he is looking far off at the ice-islands, with their turreted castles and fairy towns, or at the penguin, at the southern pole, pecking the rotting seaweed on which she has lighted, or he is listening to her distant and lonely cry within the cold. and barren tracts of ice-yet all the while he reasons as ingenuously and wisely as you.

5. His attachments do not grow about a changelèss and tiring object; but be it filial reverence, Abraham is seen sitting at the door of his tent, and the earth is one green pasture for flocks and herds; or be it love, she who is dear to him is seen in a thousand imaginary changes of situation, and new incidents are happening, of the sun," and calls him "the sharpest-sighted spirit of all in heaven."

1U' ri el [Heb., fire of God], an angel mentioned in the 2d book of Esdras. Milton makes him " 'Regent

delighting his mind with all the distinctnèss and sincerity of truth. So that while he is in the midst of men, and doing his part in the affairs of the world, his spirit has called up a fairy vision, and he is walking in a lovely dream. It is round about him in his sorrows for a consolation; and out of the gloom of his affliction he looks fōrth upon a horizon touched with a gentle morning twilight, and growing brighter to his gaze. Through pain and poverty and the world's neglect, when men look cold upon him and his friends are gone, he has where to rest a tired spirit that others know not of, and healings for a wounded mind which others can never feel.

6. And who is of so hard a nature that he would deny him these? If there are assuagings for his spirit which are never ministered to other men, it has tortures and griefs and a fearful mělancholy which need them more. He brought into the world passions deep and strong, senses tremulous and thrilling at čvèry touch, feelings delicate and shy, yet affectionate and warm, and an ardent and romantic mind. He has dwelt upon the refinemènts and virtues of our nature, till they have almost become beauties sensible to the mortal eye, and to worship them he has thought could hardly be idolatry.

7. And what does he find in the world? Perhaps, in all the multitude, he meets a mind or two which answer to his own; but through the crowd, where he looks for the free play of noble passions, he finds men eager after gain or vulgar distinctions, hardening the heart with avarice, or making it proud and rěcklèss with ambition. Does he speak with an honest indignation against oppression and trick? He is met by loose doubts and shallow speculations, or teasing questions as to right and wrong. Are the weak to be defended, or strong opposed? One man has his place yet to reach, and another his to maintain, and why should they put all at stake?

2

8. Are others at work in a good cause? They are so little scrupulous' about means, so bustling and ostentatious and full of self, so wrapped about in solemn vanity, that he is ready to turn from them and their cause in disgust. There is so little cf nature and sincerity, of ardor and sentiment of character, such a

1 Scrupulous (skrå′ pu lõus).

? Ostentatious (os' ten ta' shus),

fond of very great or offensive display; boastful; pompous.

dullness of perception, such a want of that enthusiasm for all that is great and lovely and true (which, while it makes us forgetful of ourselves, brings with it our highest enjoyments), such an offensive show and talk of factitious' sensibility-that the current of his feelings is checked; he turns away depressed and disappointed, and becomes shut up in himself; and he, whose mind is all emotion, and who loves with a depth of feeling that few have ever sounded, is pointed at, as he stands aloof from men, as a creature cold, selfish, and reserved.

3

2

4

9. But if manner too often goes for character, hard-learned rules for native taste, fastidiousnèss for refinement, ostentation for dignity, cunning for wisdom, timidity for prudence, and nervous affections for tendernèss of heart-if the order of nature is so much reversed, and semblance so often takes precedence of truth, yet it is not so in all things, nor wholly so in any. The cruel and ambitious have touches of pity and remorse, and good affections are mingled with our frailties. Amid the press of selfish aims, generous ardor is seen lighting up; and in the tumultuous and heedless bustle of the world, we here and there meet with quiet and deep affections and considerate thought.

10. Patient endurance of sufferings, bold resistance of power, forgiveness of injuries, hard-tried and faithful friendship, and self-sacrificing love, are seen in beautiful relief over the flat uniformity of life, or stand out in steady and bright grandeur in the midst of the dark deeds of men. And then, again, the vices of our nature are sometimes revealed with a violence of passion and an intellectual energy, which fasten on the imagination of a creative and high mind, while they call out opposing virtues to pass before it in visions of glory: for "there is a soul of goodnèss in things evil;" and the crimes of men have brought forth deeds of heroism and sustaining faith, that have made our rapt fancies. but gatherings from the world we live in.

11. And there are beautiful souls, too, in the world, to hold

1 Factitious (făk tish' us), conventional, or made by art; produced with care and effort; unnatural.

'F'as tĭd' i oŭs ness, the state or quality of being offended by trifling defects or crrors; squeamishness of

mind, taste, or appetite.

3 Sěm' blance, seeming; appearance; likeness.

4

Pre ced' ence, the act or state of being or going before; prefer ence; superiority.

kindred with a man of feeling and refined mind; and there are delicate and warm and simple affections, that now and then meet him on his way, and enter silently into his heart, like blessings. Here and there, on the road, go with him for a time some who call to mind the images of his soul-a voice, or a look, is a remembrancer of past visions, and breaks out upon him like openings through the clouds; and the distant beings of his imagination seem walking by his side, and the changing and unsubstantial creatures of the brain put on body and life. In such moments his fancies are turned to realities, and over the real the lights of his mind shift and play; his imagination shines out warm upon it, and it changes, and takes the airinèss of fairy life.

12. When such a one turns away from men, and is left alone in silent communion with nature and his own thoughts, and there are no bonds on the movements of the feelings, and nothing on which he would shut his eyes, but God's own hand has made all before him as it is, he feels his spirit opening upon a new existence, becoming as broad as the sun and air, as various as the earth over which it spreads itself, and touched with that love which God has imaged in all he has formed.

13. His senses take a quicker life, and become one refined and ex'quisite emotion; and the etherealized body is made, as it were, a spirit in bliss. His soul grows stronger and more active within him, as he sees life intense and working throughout nature; and that which is passing away links itself with the eternal, when he finds new life beginning even with decay, and hastening to put forth in some other form of beauty, and become a sharer in sɔme new delight. His spirit is ever awake with happy sensations, and cheerful and innocent and easy thoughts.

14. Soul and body are blending into one; the senses and thoughts mix in one delight; he sees a universe of order and beauty, and joy and life, of which he becomes a part, and finds himself carried ǎlong in the eternal going-on of nature. Sudden and short-lived passions of men take no hold upon him; for he has sat in silent thought by the roar and hurry of the stream, which has rushed on from the beginning of things; and he is quiet in the tumult of the multitude, for he has watched the tracery of leaves playing safely over the foam.