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no monument raised over him, no epitaph engraved; but while the village yet retains its name, and history has a page left unforgotten, Fontenoy is his monument, his epitaph is Fontenoy.
It was scarce two months later, that a small frigate set sail from Port St. Nazaire, with the young Chevalier, and a determined handful of devoted followers. They sailed round the west coast of Ireland, and Gerald Desmond-for, faithful to the last, he was still at his post--saw from the deck the turrets of his ancestral home, and breathed one sigh toward the tombs of his happy parents; happy in the poor privilege of lying under the green sod of their native Erin! They landed in the Hebrides, crossed over to the main, and then commenced the last campaign that has been fought upon the soil of England. Splendid campaign! brilliant, and promising, but how deceitful in its promise! Never was throne more nearly won than by those bold adventurers. But what avails it to record what has been written by pens with which no living writer can contend! It is enough to say that Gerald Desmond fought in the van at Preston Pans and Falkirk; that, had his bold advice been followed, instead of loitering at Derby, the Prince would have dashed on for London; and that a Stuart might once again have sat upon the throne of England! But so it was not ordered. Bloody Culloden finished the last hopes of the latest Jacobites; and in the last charge of the butcher Cumberland's dragoons, when all the host was scattered and disorganized, routed, and trampled under foot, and mercilessly sabred, Gerald, with half a-dozen others, charged home, and breaking the ranks of the dragoons, actually cut his way to within six
paces of the Duke's person, when a shot struck his charger, and he was hurled headlong to the ground. Starting to his feet, he cut down, one by one, three dragoons who essayed to seize him; and, although offered quarter, made a defence so desperate, calling repeatedly upon the men to kill him, that the Duke himself cried aloud to the soldiers to "shoot the scoundrel before worse should come of it." The brutal order was obeyed instantly, and three balls struck the gallant veteran. He staggered, but still stood erect, and, nerving himself with a last dying effort, broke his good sword across his knee, and flung the fragments from him, never to be borne by another, or wielded in what he deemed a less holy cause; raised his plumed hat from his long snowy locks, and, crying in a loud clear voice, "God save King James!" yielded his gallant spirit, thankful to quit a world in which he stood all desolate, without a friend, or kinsman, or king, or cause, or country! No tombstone covered the last Desmond. His corpse was thrust, with fifty others, into a rude trench cut in the bare moor of Culloden by the hands of the peasantry after the strife was over. And now the green grass grows all rank above it, and the wild broom and heather shed their bright blossoms on the soldier's grave, and the grey plover sings his obsequies. Thus was the prophecy fulfilled. No one of that high race slept in the sepulchre of his forefathers; no two were buried in one country. In their lives they were unhappy although glorious, and in their deaths they were divided. Verily of them it might be said that, although in their pleasant childhood
They filled one home with glee, Their graves are severed far and wile, By mountain, stream, and sea.
THE DYING MACHINIST.*
John Fitch, a native of Connecticut, was probably the earliest inventor of the steamboat. In the year 1786, on the Delaware River, was made his first successful experiment; but from lack of sufficient patronage, he was unable to carry out the discovery. His life was one of hardship and penury, and ended in grief and disappointment. He was confident, however, to the last, in the ultimate success of his invention, and predicted all its future vastness and advantages. His dying request was, "that he might be buried on the banks of the Ohio, where the song of the boatmen might enliven the stillness of his Testing place, and the music of the steam engine soothe his spirit," the ruling passion strong in death, and it was gratified.
We are pleased to learn that the Life and Letters of this interesting and " unfortunate man," to whose memory we willingly insert this tribute, will shortly be given to the world-we believe by Miss Leslie, of Philadelphia.-ED. D. M.
Then turned and thought, with saddened spirit,
He knew the thoughtless world ungrateful,-
Or pays when he who earned is gone!
He mused, and toiled, and died; they made him
At morn, at noon, when eve is steeping
2. WILLING, 3. REASONING.
PSYCHOLOGISTS, in addition to Activity, Intelligence, and Sensibility, the three faculties of the subject already enumerated,--distinguish in the mind certain Powers which they divide into Moral Powers and Intellectual Powers. These powers are Perceiving, Remembering, Imagining, Reflecting, Comparing, Compounding, Distinguishing, Abstracting, Desiring, Willing, and Reasoning; all of which may be arranged, and treated, under the three general heads of
OPERATIONS OF THE MIND.
But as these are facts of life, mere modes of the activity of the subject, not principles, or elements of human nature, they are more properly termed, as Locke terms them, OPERATIONS of
J. S. B.
the Mind, than powers or faculties of the mind, as they are termed by Reid and Stewart.
§ 1. Perception.
PERCEPTION is the official name, in the Scottish school, for the recognition by the external senses of material objects, and answers to the Sensation of the old French school of Condillac. But the restriction of the term to this class of our cognitions is purely arbitrary. The fact designated by it is common to all our mental operations. We perceive in sensation, in sentiment, in desire, in volition, in reasoning, in consciousness. This is implied in the fact, which lies at the basis of all science of Life, that the subject never From last Number, page 578.
manifests itself, in any degree, nor in any direction, or under any aspect, save in conjunction with the object.
It is not easy to define Perception. It is the simplest operation of the subject, and therefore incapable of being resolved into a simpler operation, or explained by being shown to have some analogy to another operation more easily apprehended. Reference to the etymology of the word, here as well as elsewhere, may help us to seize the psychological fact designated by it. The word comes to us from the Latin per-capio, and means to seize, to take hold of, to possess, or invade. Its radical meaning is to seize, and implies that the subject establishes between itself and the object the relation of possession. Every being capable of establishing or sustaining any relation between itself and another, must be percipient. Hence Leibnitz endows his monads, or elements of things, with perception. In perception the percipient subject contrives in some way to invade and possess the object. Hence with the French the word perception is applied to the collection of taxes and imposts.
Locke says that "in bare naked perception the mind is for the most part passive;" but according to the view just given of the meaning of the term, the subject must be not passive but active. Even Locke himself implies as much, notwithstanding what he says to the contrary; for he reckons perception among the operations of the mind, and assures us that there can be no perception, though all the requisite external conditions be present, unless there be also a noting of the mind from within. This noting from within must needs be an active operation. The subject, in point of fact, never is passive at all. According to the Formula of the Me already established, the subject is inherently, essentially a cause, or productive force. We cannot then be passive, for our passivity would negative our activity. Per ception must always be taken, then, as an active operation. Analyzed, it gives us: 1. The subject perceiving: 2. The conatum, or effort of the subject to perceive: and 3. The presence of the object, the seizure or apprehension of which, is the perception.
The doctrine of passivity, that we are passive in the reception of external impressions, has no solid foundation. It is unquestionably true that there can be no mental phenomenon save by the concurrence of an active force from without; but it is also equally true that there can be no mental phenomenon but from the concurrence of an active force from within. Even in the reception of an external impression we are not passive but active. If we did not exist, we could not receive an impression; if we were totally inactive, that is, literally dead, we should be precisely as if we were not, and therefore as incapable of receiving an im pression as of giving one. No phenomenon, whether we speak of man, animals, plants, or inorganic matter, can be generated save by the concurrence of TWO FORCES, both of which must act, and act too from opposite directions. Every phenomenon of every dependent being, is necessarily THE RESULTANT OF TWO FACTORS. In life, no more than in arithmetic, can we obtain a product with only a single factor. All nature is created according to one and the same original Type or Idea. Through the whole runs a never failing duality; all is bifold, or separated, as it were, into two sexes, without whose conjunction there is never a generation. But more of this when we come to speak of the FORMULA OF THE OBJECT, or what some philosophers call Ontology, or the Science of Being, in opposition to Psychology, or the Science of the SUBJECT; though very improperly, for being is as predicable of me or Subject, as of not me or Object.
Though in perception the subject is always active, yet in simple perception it is not sufficiently so, to be as Locke contends, able to note the object. In simple perception nothing is noted, distinguished; and therefore, strictly speaking, nothing cognized or known. Clear, vivid perceptions, in which the subject marks or distinguishes the object, are APPERCEPTIONS. These, however, do not differ at bottom from simple perceptions. Simple perceptions are so feeble, so dim, confused, and short-lived, their objects are so numerous, run one so into another, come and go in such rapid succession, that the subject is unable to distinguish
them one from another. In the apperceptions we distinguish; in the perceptions we do not. In the former we think our existence; in the latter we have only an obscure and confused sense of it. Any seizure of the object is an act of intelligence, if the subject seizing be only conscious. That which enables one to be conscious, to include oneself, is sentiment, or sensibility. A being destitute of sentiment, would be capable of perception; but might be incapable of cognition. But, since man is sensible in his essence, he must always act whenever he acts, in some degree, as sensibility. Consequently, a certain degree of sentiment must enter into each one, even the feeblest and most obscure, of his perceptions. The perception then does not, as we might at first sight suppose, become apperception by the addition of sentiment, but by becoming more marked and distinct. Perception, then, in man, is of the same nature with cognition, and always is cognition when there is not such a multitude of perceptions rushing as it were upon us at once, and with such rapidity that nothing can be distinguished; as when we witness the rapid revolutions of a wheel, the points follow one another in such quick succession, that there appears to us to be no succession at all; as a top when it spins with the greatest rapidity does not appear even to move.
§ 2. Memory.
UNDER the head of Remembering, or Memory, may be considered more at large, certain objections to the doctrine, that the subject never does and never can know itself save in the phenomenon in conjunction with the object, and that the object is always veritably not me; that is, is always really and truly existing out of the subject and independent of it.
In opposition to the first of these assertions, it is alleged that the subject can know itself in itself; for there is an order of facts open to our inspection, when once we retire within ourselves, in which we may study the subject by direct, immediate consciousness. In opposition to the second assertion, it is urged, that though it is unquestionably true that the subject
must needs have in every fact of life an object, yet since we can, as in reflection and imagination, think on the facts which we have ourselves created, the object may, in certain cases at least, be of our own creating, and therefore not necessarily not me, in the strict sense contended for.
1. Our life, as we look upon it, consists entirely in efforts to explore and find out ourselves. The soul, restless and uneasy at home, goes out into the not me, to find what is necessary to fill up its view of itself. Since it finds itself only in finding the object, and only so far forth as it finds the object; and since it finds the object only in finding itself, and only so far forth as it finds itself, all our inquiries may be summed up in the two questions, WHAT IS THE SUBJECT? WHAT IS THE OBJECT? The answer to the one of these questions, will always be the answer to the other. At bottom they are not two questions, but one question, and those old sages who summed up all in the injunction, "KNOW THYSELF," were not so far out of the way. According to the doctrine, thus far contended for, man knows himself only so far as he comes to know God and nature, and God and nature only so far as he comes to know himself. The knowledge of the one is always by the knowledge of the other, and the knowledge of both is but one and the same knowledge; or at least, only the reciprocal knowledge of two correlative terms, as will hereafter be shown at full length.
The question, what is the subject? it follows from this, can never be fully answered, save by one who knows all that there is to be known. Before we can answer it, we must know both God and nature, and know them completely. The whole of our life, individual and social, temporal and eternal, cannot suffice for a knowledge so extensive; for in order to be able to suffice for it, we should need to be capable of an infinite knowledge. The subject unquestionably represents in life the infinite, but represents it only in a finite manner; in order to represent it in an infinite manner, it must itself be infinite, which it is not and never can be. The complete and final answer to the question, what is the subject? must