The power to create might be wanting, but the skill of the Creator must be there. Nor is it sufficient to say that the mind does but read off what has been impressed on it by its Author; does but develope by reflection that instinctive wisdom which was implanted in it when first called into existence. Such wisdom, whether implanted or not, the human mind does not possess. We can only hope, by the closest employment of the senses, aided by every adventitious means; and by the utmost effort of reason, rendered acute by constant exercise, to attain some limited insight into these "the lowest works" of Divine Intelligence; some partial comprehension of those antecedences and sequences which we call the laws of nature; and some occasional power of using these laws for the relief and advantage of mankind.

As far indeed as the benefit of mankind is the object of science, the question between the two systems may be considered as decided by experience. The curse of barrenness has been laid on those sciences, which, to use an expression of Lord Bacon, have been arrogantly sought in the cells of the human mind. They have been prolific only of disputations, but barren of practical results. Where is now the philosophy of Aristotle, of Descartes, of Galen? They have disappeared from the face of the earth, leaving behind them no progeny to perpetuate their memory; no beneficial consequences to claim for them the grateful recollections of the

human race. Whilst, on the other hand, the discoveries of Newton in astronomy and mechanics ; of Lavoisier and Davy in chemistry; of Harvey and Hunter in physiology and pathology, are hourly felt in every transaction of life, and every material comfort which surround us. It is on the foundation of the experimental sciences, that the useful arts, the arts which mankind bless, and by which they are blessed, have been reared; while, at the same time, these same sciences have supplied the highest exercise for the human intellect, and the most extensive and sublime views of the administration of the universe. Difficult, and apparently trivial in their origin, they have been gradually increased by successive contributions, till the streamlet has become a stream, and at last, under the guidance of genius, which has combined different branches in one, they have swelled into a mighty river, scattering fertility and enjoyment through every part of their course. Nor does it appear to us that they have yet attained their full magnitude. On the contrary, the progress which has been hitherto made, has served only to bring into view a still wider expanse which is beyond, and to lead to the confident anticipation of an ultimate insight into nature's works, to which the conceptions of the earlier philosophers never approached.

That John Hunter is to be reckoned among the highest order of experimental philosophers, needs no other proof than the incomparable museum he has left behind him. Museums are not collected by

contemplative philosophers, who need nothing more than their own instinctive consciousness, but by those who build on fact and experiment. It was in visible facts that John Hunter found his theories, and it was by experiment that he tested their truth. "I think," he writes to a friend who had given a conjectural solution of a phenomenon, "I think your solution is just. But why think? Why not try the experiment? Repeat all the experiments as soon as you receive this, and they will give you the solution."* It was particularly fortunate for him that he lived in an age, when the principles of philosophical investigation were rightly understood. His mind was naturally excursive and ambitious, impatient of the limits by which his knowledge was bounded, and eager to grasp at some higher and more transcendent truth, of which he thought he saw an outline or shadow looming in the darkness beyond. These qualities had not been chastened or regulated by early education; they existed in their natural roughness and vigour, not emasculated indeed by artificial cultivation, but, on the other hand, never taught to obey the rein, nor endowed with that additional power as well as security which order and method bestow. It cannot be doubted that such a mind, transported by its very force and activity, would have carried its possessor into the regions of unbounded fancy, and rather impeded than furthered the progress of discovery, had it not been constantly fettered by experiment and obser

* Hunter's Works, Palmer's ed., vol. i. p. 56.

vation, which restrained its extravagance, corrected its errors, and suggested more distinct and truer notions than the human mind can ever engender on itself. There was never a better illustration of the truth; "Hominum intellectui non plumæ addendæ, sed plumbum potiùs et pondera, ut cohibeant omnem saltum et volatum."*

It may surely be hoped that the sound and practical genius of England will continue to tread the path which has been hallowed by the labours of Bacon, of Newton, of Harvey, and of Hunter, unseduced by the specious and lofty pretensions of rival systems. The domain of metaphysics may suffice for the theoretical philosophy:

"Illâ se jactet in aulâ,”

amid the perpetual strife of unstable and insubstantial elements. But the physical sciences, those which are definite and palpable, may surely be kept sacred from its intrusion. They belong as of right to another sovereign, under whose rule errors are detected and extirpated, solid and substantial certainty is attained, and a rich harvest is reaped of results really beneficial.

There is yet another point in which the example of John Hunter is most instructive, I mean the extent and variety of the objects which he comprehended in his researches. Every form of animated nature, from the lowest animals, and even plants, up to man, is embraced in his museum. He traces

Bacon, Nov. Org., Aph. civ.

every vital function through all the gradations of being, and places in juxtaposition the organs by which it is discharged in each of them. The magnificence of such a scheme was beyond the comprehension of his contemporaries, but subsequent generations have known better how to value it. It was not adopted in the wantonness of a curiosity which was insatiable, but from a deep and settled conviction that there was no other road to the discovery of the general laws of pathology. It was a principle with him, that physiology was necessary to the knowledge of pathology, and comparative anatomy to the knowledge of physiology; and hence comparative anatomy and physiology absorbed a large part of his time and attention. If we look to the result, it is not possible to doubt that he judged rightly. The great principles he has established in pathology have given a new aspect to the science, and rendered the works of all previous enquirers comparatively worthless. By studying the functions of health, he obtained such an insight into the course of nature, such a knowledge of her designs and her means, as guided him to a right interpretation even of her aberrations. Whether in health or in disease, the design of nature is for the most part the same, to preserve life, to guard against suffering, to maintain all the bodily functions in their integrity, to restore what is injured or lost. The means are also the same, namely, those natural powers with which the different parts of the ma