is not liable to puzzle itself in search of the last link in the chain of causation, or to lose itself in the mazes of an infinite series. It is not in tracing minute and delicate mechanical adjustments, that the mind is disposed to that reverential awe in which all inquiries with regard to Deity should end, but in contemplating the divine attributes as displayed on a scale of inconceivable vastness and magnificence.

Having shown that the recognition of the existence of a Supreme Being is one of the primary intuitions of reason, it follows that the existence cannot be denied without unsettling the foundations of all belief, and plunging the mind into the gulf of universal skepticism. Admitting, then, the existence of a God, the order of nature becomes but the expression of his will. He it is who has adjusted the relations of all sentient beings. He has endowed the animal creation with instincts and capacities, which bind each individual species to its appropriate sphere of life. He has subjected sentient beings to wants; and his bounteous goodness is pledged to supply those wants. This is the great law of God's providence toward the beings which he has created: "Thou openest thine hand and satisfiest the desire of every living thing." Whatever real wants, therefore, of human nature may be proved to exist, we may consider the divine goodness pledged for their supply.

In the subsequent course of this discussion, we shall consider the moral condition of the human race, the wants and aspirations of the soul, the hopes and the fears which alternately illumine and darken its prospects; and from these data we shall attempt to derive a solution of the relations and destiny of man. This course of inquiry will lead us to investigate the question of an especial revelation. In this investigation we hope to place the Bible upon the sure foundation of faith, on which it rests in the minds of all true Christians.

ARTICLE V.

EXTREMES OF Credulity and SKEPTICISM IN HISTORY.

By E. D. SANBORN, Professor of the Latin Language and Literature, Dartmouth College, N. H,

EARLY historians believed too much. They seldom knew a doubt. Tradition was to them a god, whose oracles it was their duty to record with reverence. It was their privilege to seek the response, not to question its truth. They recorded, with unhesitating confidence, both what they san and what they heard. They could not discredit the evidence of their own senses, and they saw no reason why they should question what others asserted. This credulity resulted from their artless simplicity of character and from a superstitious veneration for the marvels of an early age. In modern times historians are passing to the extreme of unbelief. They question every thing old. In their view the antiquity of a writer is presumptive evidence against him. If he comes from a region of darkness he is, of course, incompetent to testify in a court of modern illuminati. Living upon the confines of a fabulous age, he must himself partake of its characteristics. Not only do the records of antiquity become fables, poems, or myths, in the hands of these erudite critics, but the writers themselves are converted into allegories or poetical creations. Philosophers are always prone to believe too little or too much. They must differ from other men, else they gain no celebrity. Pride of opinion or love of novelty often gives birth to new theories and new systems of philosophy and criticism. An opinion would not excite attention unless it were new or extravagant. With some men doubting is a proof of wisdom. If a man with great gravity affects to dissent from the multitude, he is at once presumed to have good reasons for so doing. He is admired for his independence and reverenced for the deep mystery which shrouds his speculations. "What one can see and cannot see over," says a distinguished writer," is as good as infinite." But few individuals. have the time or ability to seek out the sources of historic truth for themselves. They must receive the declarations of others on trust. It is an easy matter, therefore, for a man of profound

learning to disturb the fountains of human belief. Thus a few leading minds will sometimes give direction to the popular faith of the age. Hence we have revolutions in history and philosophy as well as in politics. Epochs of doubt and confidence alternate. In some ages it is fashionable to believe, and historic faith becomes a common characteristic of the times; in others it is equally fashionable to doubt, and men by general consent become skeptical. There is also an obvious and intimate connexion between religious and historic faith. When men begin to doubt they lose their reverence for things sacred. The Bible becomes, to the doubting critic of ancient history, only a collection of myths, legends, and allegories. When once the human mind swings from its moorings and abandons the only true chart of human belief, it is tossed" by every wind of doctrine" upon the shoreless sea of infidelity. Human passions are ever ready to lead the popular will when the restraints of education. and religion are removed. It was so at the Reformation, when the human mind broke the shackles of ignorance and superstition and asserted its independence; it was so on the restoration of Charles II. to his throne, after the checks which Puritanism had laid upon licentiousness and skepticism were removed; it was so in France after the death of Louis XIV. "This monarch, in his old age," says Macaulay, "became religious, and determined that his subjects should be religious too-shrugged his shoulders and knitted his brows if he observed, at his levee or near his dinner-table, any gentleman who neglected the duties enjoined by the church, and rewarded piety with blue ribands, invitations to Marli, governments, pensions, and regiments. Forthwith Versailles became, in every thing but dress, a convent. The pulpits and confessionals were surrounded by swords and embroidery; the marshals of France were much in prayer; and there was hardly one among the dukes and peers who did not carry good little books in his pocket, fast during Lent, and communicate at Easter. Madame de Maintenon, who had a great share in the blessed work, boasted that devotion had become quite the fashion. A fashion, indeed, it was, and like a fashion it passed away. No sooner had the old king been carried to St. Denis than the whole court unmasked; every man hastened to indemnify himself, by the excess of licentiousness and impudence, for years of mortification. The same persons who, a few months before, with meek voices and demure looks, had consulted divines about the state of their souls, now

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surrounded the midnight table, where, amidst the bounding of champagne corks, a drunken prince, enthroned between Dubois and Madame de Parabère, hiccoughed out atheistical arguments. and obscene jests." Similar scenes were enacted in England during the reign of Charles II. They had their origin in similar causes. Baxter, speaking of that period, says, "The impieties and shameless debaucheries of the court spread through all orders of society. Drunkenness and impiety were the honored badges of loyalty. Not only seriousness, but even temperance and chastity were signs of nonconformity and prognostics of rebellion; and the nation, in spite of God's judgments, seemed ripening for the doom of Sodom." If the opinions of a particular age are so intimately connected with the morals and prosperity of the people, it becomes the duty of the philanthropist and patriot to regulate public opinion, if possible, and prevent excesses. Misbelief is as bad as unbelief, and hypocrisy is worse than either. The hypocritical courtiers of Louis XIV. added to their secret crimes the guilt of open deception. In our own times men are exceedingly fond of new opinions. There is a tendency in the public mind to entertain them. But few men now stand in the ways and ask for the old paths." In history, philosophy, politics, and religion, men are disposed to "heap to themselves teachers, having itching ears." The united testimony of ages weighs not against the bold speculations of the hour. Reason is deified, while History and Revelation are dishonored. The human mind seems now to be near the aphelion of its revolution. It has wandered from the true source of light into the cold and cheerless regions of doubt. In history it is better to believe too much than too little-to believe every thing rather than nothing. I have said that the early historians were credulous. This credulity is certainly more lovely than skepticism. They were unsuspecting; they had not learned that critical art which plucks the grave-clothes from the buried past, and leaves it an object of universal disgust and abhorrence. They venerated even the incredible wonders of hoary antiquity. From early traditions they selected their materials without discrimination, and, giving loose rein to fancy, they drew beautiful pictures of living men and society, marked with all the playfulness and simplicity of childhood. Such were the historians who preceded Herodotus, whose works are now lost. They were the connecting links between fable and history, between poetry and prose. Their works possessed the

characteristics of both. Herodotus is supposed to have been indebted to them for some portions of his own delightful narrative. Though he is the acknowledged "father of history," yet he is the child of a poetic age. He wears his swaddling-clothes even in the meridian of life. He ever loves the marvels of childhood." He reminds us," says an eminent critic, "of a delightful child. His animation, his simple-hearted tenderness, his wonderful talent for description and dialogue, and the pure, sweet flow of his language, place him at the head of narrators. There is a grace beyond the reach of affectation in his awkwardness, a malice in his innocence, an intelligence in his nonsense, an insinuating eloquence in his lisp. We know of no writer who makes such an interest for himself and his book in the heart of the reader. He has written an incomparable book." If we consider the strange medley of materials from which he derived his information, the character of the age, and the people for whom he wrote, we shall rather admire the truthfulness of his history than carp at its blemishes. He wrote for a people lively, fickle, inquisitive, and fond of novelty. He adapted his history to the wants of his age, and very fortunately chose a style of narrative so true to nature, so artless, and pleasing, that it is suited to any age or people. To be sure he has not rejected all the marvels of the hoary past. The infancy of society abounded in wild adventure, in hercic exploits, and fabled monsters. Tradition exaggerated the deeds of the fathers, and poetry flung her veil of many hues about them. It was impossible for the most acute mind to separate truth from falsehood. Herodotus, the child of a new epoch, looking with filial reverence upon all that was old, did not desire to do it. He looked upon men as they lived and moved about him. He listened to their narratives and recorded them; he consulted the records and traditions of earlier days, and wrote down the responses they uttered. He recorded many things which to us seem improbable and unnatural. To him they undoubtedly wore the aspect of truth. They accorded with the common faith of those for whom he wrote. They corresponded with the general current of traditions which had come down from early times. While he recorded these pleasing fables, he believed. His contemporaries were equally confiding. He seemed to them to speak under the guidance and inspiration of the Muses. They honored him as the herald of their nation's glory. It does not appear that they questioned any of his "specious wonders." By bring