and one dissertations on that art, with which our magazines and reviews have teemed during the last twenty years." Sydney, then, honored as a statesman and a soldier, ranks deservedly high as a writer. His was a splendid career his has been a splendid fame. Yet how diverse are the fortunes of men of genius! Sydney owes much to circumstances lives in the centre of a dazzling homage, and when he dies, over his tomb, streaming through heraldic devices and blushing trophies, mantles the light of an undying glory. Poor Robert Greene, a cotemporary of his, died in poverty and neglect, yet with the true thirst he petitioned that laurels might be laid upon his coffin, and now he sleeps close to the shadows of oblivion. While Burns, struggling with adversity and bent to toil, is not overcome by circumstances, but rises above them, by the freshness and force of his own genius, and shall live in memory and in song, until the heart of the common humanity is still, and the wind no more blows across the heather.

But after all, it is the life—it is the character of Sydney that renders him illustrious. We read that life, and we feel, perhaps, we scarce know why, that we love him. "The truth is," says Lord Brooke, "that his end was not writing, even while he wrote; nor his knowledge moulded for tables or schools; but both his wit and understanding bent upon his heart to make himself and others, not in words or opinion, but in life and action, good and great." "On the whole," says Miss Aikin, "though justice claims the admission that the character of Sydney was not entirely free from the faults most incident to his age and station, and that neither as a writer, a scholar, a soldier, or a statesman, -in all which characters, during the course of his short life, he appeared, and appeared with distinction,-is he yet entitled to the highest rank; it may, however, be firmly maintained that, as a man, an accomplished and high souled man, he had among his cotemporary countrymen neither equal nor competitor." As a genial man one who possessed the faculty of drawing out talent in others--one who sympathized with and cherished the finer traits of genius-Sydney stands in an eminent light. He was the friend and the patron of Spenser, and probably incited him to undertake his Fairy Queen. Even in college, we find him encouraging the celebrated antiquary, Camden. "In

deed," says Lord Brooke again, "he was withal such a lover of mankind and goodness, that whosoever had any real parts, in him found comfort, participation, and protection, to the uttermost of his power; like Zephyrus, he giving life where he blew. The universities abroad and at home accounted him a general Macænas of learning; dedicated their books to him; and communicated every invention or improvement of knowledge with him. Soldiers honored him, and were so honored by him, as no man thought he marched under the true banner of Mars, who had not Sir Philip Sydney's approbation. . . . But what speak I

of these," says he, "with whom his own ways and ends did concur? since, to descend, his heart and capacity were so large, that there was not a cunning painter, a skilful musician, or any other artificer of extraordinary fame, that made not himself known to this famous spirit, and found him his true friend without hire, and the common rendezvous of worth in his time."

We have not the means of viewing Sydney as a complete character; his life was but a,fragment. As Campbell has beautifully said, "It was poetry put in action," and it was only a brief portion of a noble epic. But in the little that we see of him, gleam out, here and there, passages of virtue and splendor. He was quick, ardent, ambitious, nay, rash. But in him shone the light of the domestic affections-the sanctity of filial piety. In him throbbed the highest daring, and yet the gentlest courtesy. He wore the staid gravity of the scholar and statesman, but also the polished amenities of social life. He resisted wrong, but he aided suffering. He linked the noble forms of the old knighterrant with the graces of the modern gentleman. He could glitter in the galaxies of courts; he could adorn the train of beauty; he could blaze on the field of battle. He could unravel the perplexing mazes of statesmanship; he delighted in the calm retirement of study. And amid the cowardly fears of politicians, and the rotten obsequiousness of courtiers, he bore witness to an honest and manly patriotism. Thus brave, and generous, and courteous, and gifted, there runs through his life the purity of a high moral conduct, and there lingers around his death the blessedness of a Christian profession.

Thus much of the character of Sydney we catch in

glimpses, but for the proof of its excellence we rely chiefly upon the general testimony and feeling of his cotemporaries. He evidently earned what is far better than the phrases of courtly compliment - the admiration and love of grateful and sympathizing spirits. Oldys, the antiquarian, says that he could muster up two hundred authors who wrote in praise of Sir Philip Sydney. It is true, he lived in an age of extravagant compliments, and he was the heir of the favorite of Elizabeth, which may account for some adulation. But he evidently won the esteem of men's hearts

inen of all conditions and characters-the bigoted Philip, the haughty Don John, the learned Languet, the gifted Spenser. Thornton had it recorded upon his tomb that he was the tutor of Philip Sydney. Fulke Greville, retiring from the cares of the world, and communing with the excellence of past times and with the worthy dead, calls up the image and embalms the memory of his friend, and directs this be written on his monument: "Fulke Greville, -servant to Queen Elizabeth, councillor to King James, and friend to Sir Philip Sydney." Evidently, Sydney attracted his cotemporaries as he attracts us, by a certain perfection and sweetness, by a certain lustre of character, which makes one great in what he is, while his deeds are comparatively meagre and inadequate to account for his fame. In this way only, by intrinsic and genuine excellence, by a harmonious union of genius and high sentiment and amiability, can we account for the diverse and universal admiration of which he was the object.

We have thus thrown open the doors of an antique and golden age, and looked in upon its dusk and mellow associations, where group the illustrious forms of prince and poet, philosopher and hero. We have suffered our eyes to rest upon one, in many respects, the most brilliant of that group, but who quickly passed away like a bright dream of romance. We have followed him to his grave, over which waves the laurel of genius, wet with the young blood of bravery. Let us now turn away to discard what we may see in him of pride or error, but carrying with us the lesson to so blend a good manner with good matter, worthy accomplishments with intrinsic virtue, as to live beloved of men and approved of God. "Rest, then," says old Camden, "rest, then, in peace, oh Sydney! We will

not celebrate thy memory with tears, but with admiration. Whatever we loved in thee, whatever we admired in thee, continues and will continue in the memories of men, the revolutions of ages, and the annals of time. . . . . as the Greek poet hath it, Virtue's beyond the reach of Fate.'"4

For,

E. H. C.

ART. XXIV.

Relation of our present Character to the Future.

THE subject of this essay is suggested by a passage in the works of the late Dr. Channing. As the passage embodies much of the principles and tenets of our Unitarian brethren, and is from the pen of the most eminent theologian and scholar of that denomination, the reader will feel an interest in the subject, even if the essay fail to do it justice.

"If we are to live again, let us settle it as a sure fact, that we shall carry with us our present minds, such as we now make them; that we shall reap good or ill according to their improvement or corruption; and, of consequence, that every act, which affects the character, will reach in its influence beyond the grave, and have a bearing on our future weal or woe."—Channing's Works, vol. iv., p. 161.

That what we are here called on to settle in our minds, embraces a subject of infinite importance to every one, none can doubt. And as the points expressed are tenets of the doctrine which is professed by one of the most respectable and popular denominations in our community, we have no right to consider them unworthy of our most serious, candid, and even prayerful attention.

The first particular, of which we may attempt an inves tigation, is that of our making our minds. Although the Rev. Dr. speaks in a way to imply, that we make our own minds, and although he speaks of this as if it were a fact

4 It is proper to say here, that for many of the facts above stated we are indebted to "Zouch's Life of Sydney," although the title of that work is not named among others at the head of the article.

which needs no proof, we must take the liberty to suggest some queries respecting it. We ask, then, is it true of any man, that he is the maker of his own mind? But, by what process of reasoning can we arrive at a correct solution of this question? Perhaps some light may be brought on this subject, by asking a few questions: Is there any man who is destitute of a mind? Is every man necessarily possessed of a mind? If there is no one without a mind, and if every one is necessarily possessed of a mind, is it not, at least, a questionable hypothesis, that every man makes his own mind? Does the tender infant make its own weak mind? Does the sprightly youth make his own mind, which has more strength? At what age do we make our minds? We may, moreover, ask whether we are capable of having no minds by choosing to have none? If the foregoing queries seem rather perplexing, we think they must, at least, raise some doubts as to the truth of the hypothesis under consideration.

Suppose we take an individual of whom we have considerable information in the New Testament, and examine how he came by different minds at different times. When Saul of Tarsus, was a Pharisee at Jerusalem, he was possessed of the mind of a Pharisee; and that mind was opposed to Christ, to the doctrine of Christ, and to all who professed to be the disciples of Christ; and this mind was zealous in the cause of persecuting and wasting the church. Now, let us candidly consider all the circumstances of this individual, from his childhood to the time he was employed in the work of persecution, and carefully weigh the question, whether Saul was the maker of this mind, or was this mind produced by the combination of all the incidents of his education? Possessed of this mind, which was evidently produced by those causes just mentioned, he proceeded, with letters of authority from the high priest of his nation, to Damascus, to arrest all whom he could find of the disciples of Jesus, that they might be punished according to the desire of that mind of which he was possessed. But we find, that before he arrived at that city, he was entirely dispossessed of the mind he had had, and was of a mind which was all submission to the mind and will of Jesus. Now let the candid Christian, who is familiar with the New Testament account of the change