ality, the object of immediate knowledge or perception being, not the act, but the person acting. It is no inference from my perception of a triangle to say that it has three angles; this is a part of the perception, a part of the meaning or definition of the word. But the existence of a luminous body somewhere, though it be not directly seen, is an inference from the light which it diffuses, and which is seen.

I have dwelt at some length on this point, at the risk of seeming tedious and abstruse, because it is one of cardinal importance, and this doctrine respecting it has not been clearly set forth and defended, so far as I know, by any English writer on the philosophy of mind. It is the only view which seems to me to afford positive proof of the immateriality of the soul, or the person. Matter is essentially complex and divisible; the smallest particle of it has still an upper and an under side, and we can conceive of these two being separated from each other. Mind, or person, as already remarked, is essentially indivisible. The being which I call self, or, to use the modern jargon, the me, is an absolute unit. For a person to speak of himself in the plural number, except as a figure of speech, is instantly perceived to be an absurdity, as much so, as to speak of a round square. The doctrine of atoms, or ultimate particles in matter, however convenient it may be as an hypothesis, for representing the supposed groundwork of certain facts in chemistry, must always remain an hypothesis, alike incapable of proof, and even of distinct conception. "If the atomic theory be put forwards," says Mr. Whewell, "as asserting that chemical elements, are really composed of atoms, that is, of such particles not further divisible, we cannot avoid remarking, that for such a conclusion chemical research has not afforded, nor can afford, any satisfactory evidence whatever." Again he says, "The assumption of indivisible particles, smaller than the smallest observable, which combine, particle with particle, will explain the phenomena; but the assumption of particles bearing this proportion, but not possessing the property of indivisibility, will explain the phenomena at least equally well." The decisive argument against the atomic doctrine as a representation

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of fact, though not against its use as a convenient hypothetical basis for mathematical calculation, is this:- Space, or extension, is divisible without limit, as may be proved by geometry; and as matter occupies space, or is extended, no portion of it is indivisible, or an atom. This is a metaphysical argument, it is true; but it is applied to refute a metaphysical conception, and is therefore legitimate. As a matter of fact, no one will assert that we can arrive at ultimate particles in matter, or have sensible evidence that they exist.

Matter, then, is necessarily divisible, or complex, in all cases; mind, or person, is necessarily indivisible; for a denial of the proposition "I am one" is not merely false, but absurd, this being a truth of intuition. An inevitable corollary from this doctrine is, that the complex material frame, with its numberless adaptations and arrangements, in which this being is lodged, is truly foreign. from the man himself, having a kind of connection with him in reality but one degree more intimate than that of his clothes. The body is the curiously contrived machine through which the man communicates with the material world. It needs but little reflection to convince one, that his corporeal limbs and organs are but mechanical means and tools constantly within his reach, controlled by his single intelligence, and executing the behests of his undivided will, which is sovereign in its own domain. The eye is but his instrument to see with, the ear is his trumpet for communicating sound to him, the leg is his steed, and the arm his soldier. These outward organs and implements may tire in their uses, like willing servants that are yet overtasked; they may be worn out, become palsied, and decay; many of them may even be severed from the conscious agent whose property they are, yet the loss does not impair the sovereignty of his reason or the unity of his intelligence. The windows through which we look out upon the material world may be darkened, but the memory and the imagination are busy within, and the scenes which delighted our youth still pass before us in rapid and perpetual succession. Sleep relaxes the strained muscles, gives repose to the tired limbs, and shuts the wearied sense, the actual and ma

terial world to our apprehension ceasing to exist; but the mind, the man, claims no rest from his appropriate toil, but pursues his task in the world of dreams. All the proper and exclusive functions of the soul are discharged as readily and continuously as in our waking hours. Reason and recollection, judgment, fancy, the desires and the affections, still exercise their office; and the will, though it has lost control for a time of its actual servants through their fatigue, still governs an ideal kingdom, and spurs its fancied ministers. There is no good reason to believe, that sleep ever extends beyond the body, or suspends the exercise of a single function of purely intellectual life.

This view of the body as something extraneous to the man, as alike his covering and his instrument, the house which he lives in, and the nicely fashioned apparatus that executes his will and gratifies his passions, appears to me so natural and obvious, that it seems difficult to account for the practical materialism of common opinion on the subject. Even the respect which is paid to the remains of the dead, so far as it goes beyond the pleasing association which invests with a kind of sacredness every article or ornament once used by the loved and lost, -and in ordinary cases it goes much farther, — seems alike irrational and unchristian. Many portions of the body may be removed, many of the organs become unfit for use, without impairing in the slightest degree the sufferer's conscious personality and intelligence. The particles of the whole are in a state of constant flux and renovation, so that man changes his body only a little less frequently than he does his coat.

And viewed at any one moment, however close and intimate the union may appear, the body still seems to show its ministerial character, and to acknowledge in every part the sovereignty of one undivided and separate will. Sensation extends to every part of it, every fibre is instinct with life, and the dominion of the will is absolute and immediate over every muscle and joint, the whole fabric and its tenant were one homogeneous sysThe mind tires not of its supremacy, and is not wearied with the number of volitions required to keep every joint in ac

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tion, and every organ performing its proper function. It would not delegate the control of the fingers to an inferior power, nor contrive mechanical or automatic means for moving the extremities. Within its sphere, it is sole sovereign, and is not perplexed with the variety and constant succession of its duties, extending to every part of the complex structure of which it is the animating and directing spirit. Sensation is not cumbered with the multitude of impressions it receives, nor is the fineness of perception dulled by repeated exercise. The sharpness of its edge rather improves by use, and we become more heedful of its lightest intimations. This improvement, however, is wholly of the inner sense, the man's capacity being enlarged, while the external organ which is his instrument the eye, for instance—is often injured and sometimes destroyed by excessive or unguarded use. "It does not appear," says Bishop Butler, "that the relation of this gross body to the reflecting being is in any degree necessary to thinking; to our intellectual enjoyments or sufferings; nor, consequently, that the dissolution or alienation of the former by death will be the destruction of those present powers which render us capable of this state of reflection." This consideration, indeed, affords no proof, properly so called, that the mind is immortal; but it rebuts the presumption, otherwise inevitable, that the death of the body is also the death of the soul. These rags of mortality, in which we are clothed, may fall off from us, and be mingled with their kindred dust; but this proves only that we have no further use for them, and it leaves unimpaired the probability, that death, like sleep, may be only the portal to a spirit land.

I have heard of a recent case in a town not far off, in which a young man, when just entering upon active life and the full duties of manhood, was attacked by the terrible disease which physicians call anchylosis, or stiffening of the joints. First one knee refused its office, and as this was accompanied with great pain, and perhaps the nature of the complaint was mistaken, the leg was amputated, in the hope that the evil would stop there. But the disease soon passed into the other limb, stiffened the remaining

knee, and then crept on slowly from joint to joint, making each inflexible as it passed, till the whole lower portion of the body was nearly as rigid as iron, and the muscles had no longer any office to perform. Gradually, then, it moved upward, leaving the vertebral column inflexible; the arms and hands, which, in anticipation of its approach, had been bent into a position most convenient for the sufferer, stiffened there; the neck refused to turn or bend, and the body became almost as immovable as if it had been carved out of the rock. Years passed between the first appearance of the disease and this awful completion of its work; years elapsed after the hapless patient was thus hardened into stone, and still he lived. Nor was this all; his eyes were attacked; the sight of one was wholly lost, and the other became so exquisitely sensitive, that it could seldom be exposed to the light, and never but for a few moments at a time. And thus he remained for years, blind, immovable, prisoned in this house of stone, and echoing, we might suppose, the affecting exclamation of the Apostle, "Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?" But no word of impatience escaped him; the mind was clear and vigorous, the temper was not soured, the affections were as strong and clinging as ever. His good sense, his wit, his knowledge of books, his interest in the passing topics of the day, made his chamber a favorite resort even of those who might not have been drawn thither merely by sympathy for his sufferings; for not infrequently he was still exposed to agonizing pain. But in the intervals of this distress, his active mind sought and found employment, and numerous contributions which this living statue dictated for a periodical work are now in print. The secret of his wonderful composure and gentleness may be told in two words, · religious resignation. *

* It cannot be indelicate now to state, that the individual here referred to was the late James Kennard, Jr., of Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Since this Lecture was delivered, a volume of Selections from his Writings, with a Sketch of his Life and Character, prepared by his friend the Rev. Andrew P. Peabody, has been "printed for private circulation." It is much to be hoped that the family and friends of the deceased will allow this deeply in