Of his philosophical and theological opinions, peculiar as they were to himself, on many points, it would be impossible to give an intelligible and adequate view, in the limited space which remains to us. Indeed, the controversy among his countrymen is not yet settled, as to what those opinions were. Those who wish to read the various opinions on the subject, may consult the writings of Jacobi, of Schlegel, of Mendelssohn, and of Lessing's brother. The latest article we have seen on this subject, is to be found in the Kritische-Prediger Bibliothek, for 1837. Meanwhile, the following extract from Lessing's Introduction to the Treatise of Berengarius, exhibits his mode of thinking on these weighty subjects, and shows that here, as in every thing else, rectitude was his first law:

"I know not whether it be duty to sacrifice happiness and life to the cause of truth; at least, the courage and determination necessary for such a sacrifice are not gifts in our power to acquire. But one thing I do know; that it is a duty, if we would communicate truth, to communicate the whole truth, or none at all; to announce it clear and full, without riddles, without any keeping-back, without distrusting its power and efficacy; and the requisites for so doing are in our power. He who will not acquire them, or, if he has acquired, will not use them, deserves but ill of the human understanding when he takes away from us gross errors, but keeps back the whole truth, and attempts to satisfy us with a mixture of truth and falsehood. For the grosser the error, the shorter and plainer is the road from it to truth. Refined error, on the contrary, may forever prevent us from arriving at truth, inasmuch as it is more difficult to detect the error."

Again:

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Truly the man is yet to appear who so attacks religion, and he who so defends it as the weight and dignity of the subject demands; with all the knowledge, all the love of truth, all the earnestness."

men an author of whom they were almost ignorant, as the true model of dramatic art. The outeries of his adversaries did him admirable service; they excited attention to his attacks, which every day increased in vigor. At first, the public knew not what to make of it. War was proclaimed against the old idols, while the new gods were almost unknown. But doubt, inquiry, criticism, had struck root; people began to debate, to reflect; some men of learning pointed out the wide gulf which severed the French from the Greek tragedy; Wieland translated the hitherto unknown Shakspeare, and thus was the well-fought field gradually won, and Lessing's renown, as critic, fixed on an immoveable basis."

He has gone to that world where truth and truth only is found. His part in the world's music is stricken out, but the chords which he struck shall vibrate to all eternity. Why do we speak of a science of music, as if in sounds only there were harmony? Are there not accords in the landscape, and is there no music of minds. If we look separately at each object of the visible landscape, so unlike, so apparently discordant, we may fancy that each is most beautiful alone, and that to unite them would be but to destroy their effect. What concord between the madly rushing cataract and the trembling floweret that grows on its brink? So we might ask, but experience has shown us our mistake. From each object of nature there breathes forth a spirit, a presence, a tone. From the brook, that, in its soft lapse, tinkles a sweet_murmur to the flowers on its brink, and from the flowers that in return bend over its waters, and cast on it the reflection of their lovely forms; from the rocky cleft which disdains not to shelter, like a mother, the tender plant in its rough embrace, and from the tender plant which gives smiles and fragrance in recompense; from the sky, bending lovingly over the tall trees, and from the trees that wave in concert, and utter, amid their leafy tops, a melodious, but unintelligible speech; from "the hills, rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun," and from "the vales, stretching in pensive quietness" between; from each of these comes forth a fine, invisible, all-pervading breath, and all mingle in one harmony.

And is there less of variety, less of unison in the kingdom of minds? Does the material transcend the spiritual? No, for in vain shall we seek an object in nature which has not its counterpart in man. There is none so beautiful, none so strange, none so fearful, that it stands alone. In one man we find a likeness to the jagged and precipitous cliff, towering in naked and desolate grandeur, and receiving in sullen silence the lashings of the angry surges. Another is the vineclad hill, with its gentle slopes and sunny brightness, its green verdure and purple clusters. One is imaged in the pomp of the clouds that wait upon the setting sun, "taking and giving glory in his light;" another, in the same clouds when they softly and fleecily repose upon the bosom of the sky; and another still, in their wild array, when, "scared by driving winds," they hurry along in swift disorder. One is the calm, majestic river, always tranquil but mighty in its stillness; and another, the brawling brook, whose noisy pro

gress betrays its shallowness. And some we find-a fewbest likened to the ocean, since they have all its varied moods; its depths and its music, its calmness and its storms. At one time we seem to hear the roar of its angry surges, as it breaks upon the shore, and anon, the plaintive murmur of its softly stealing waves; now, the hoarse scream of the birds that make their home on it shores; anon, the distant rustle of its hollow caves, and again, the sweet tones that come from its convoluted shells.

And where shall we find a type for Lessing. His must be an emblem of various import, for the thread of his life was a mingled one. Let us find it in the river, which, beginning as a peaceful brooklet, traces its silvery way through the meadow, oft returning upon itself, and enclosing in its windings many a green nook and flowery peninsula. But, as it advances, its course becomes less tortuous, it flows with a direct and rapid torrent, making for itself a deeper channel, and spreading a wider fertility. Presently, its passage is obstructed; its bed narrows; it must force its way through rocky straits;—but continually it triumphs, and gains strength by the triumph; trees grow up upon its banks, and mighty ships are borne upon its bosom. And now it rolls on with a mighty and resistless torrent, it has broken through every obstruction, it rushes forward, and the next moment pours itself into

"The unfathomable gulf where all is still."

But we must bring these remarks to a close. We have attempted to convey to such of our readers as may not have studied his writings, some notion of the spirit and strivings of a man whose name, as connected with the period in which he came forward, and the effect which he wrought, must always be prominent in the history of his country's literature. But his writings have a permanent and intrinsic interest apart from their historical relations to his time; and the extracts we have given may enable our readers to form some impression of their claim upon the attention of the student of literature and of art.

ART. IV.-1. Report on Education in Europe, to the Trustees of the Girard College for Orphans. By ALEXANDEr DalLAS BACHE, LL. D., President of the College. Philadelphia: 1839. 8vo. pp. 666.

2. The Will and Biography of the late Stephen Girard, Esq. Philadelphia: 1832. 8vo. pp. 36.

3. Address on the occasion of laying the Corner Stone of the Girard College for Orphans. By NICHOLAS BIDDLE. Philadelphia: 1833. 8vo. pp. 23.

4. Report of the Committee on Moral and Religious Instruction and Discipline, to the Trustees of the Girard College for Orphans. B. W. RICHARDS, Chairman. Philadelphia: 1833. 8vo. pp. 15.

5. Report of the Committee on Clothing, Diet, etc., to the Board of Trustees of the Girard College for Orphans. GEORGE B. WOOD, M. D., Chairman. Philadelphia: 1835. pp. 19.

8vo.

6. Reports of Committees, Resolutions, etc., relative to the Organization of the Girard College for Orphans. Printed for the Board. Philadelphia: 1839. 8vo. pp. 55.

STEPHEN GIRARD, of the city of Philadelphia, "merchant and mariner," died on the 26th December, 1831. By extraordinary talents and success in business, he had, during a long and laborious life, amassed a fortune exceeding that of any other American citizen. This fact was most that was known of him before his decease. Holding himself aloof from society, absorbed in the cares of his vast estate, dead to all political honors, and scarcely allowing himself any recreations except such as consisted in a change of labor, he seemed to live in a world of his own, and to have few feelings in common with his fellow men. Without children, frugal in his habits, and wealthy beyond even the desires of avarice, he yet toiled on, in old age, with as keen an industry as if he had had the first dollar of his fortune to make,— a mystery to the community in which he lived, who were incapable of understanding so laborious a diligence, prompted by no other apparent motive than the mere love of amassing

and possessing. But death, which arrested his labors, revealed also their true source and object. It was not a fondness for money alone that had prompted and sustained him in his incessant toils. Whatever share this sentiment may have had in shaping his life, others, more elevated and generous, had undoubtedly mingled with it. The desire of posthumous fame, a hidden sympathy in the wants of the destitute and friendless, and a lofty public spirit, were, beyond all peradventure, no strangers in his bosom.

The correctness of this opinion concerning Mr. Girard's motives, is apparent from his will. After making liberal bequests to various charitable institutions, to the cities of Philadelphia and New Orleans, and to the commonwealth of Pennsylvania, amounting in all to some millions of dollars, he bequeaths in trust, to the select and common councils of Philadelphia, two millions for the erection and endowment of a college for "poor white male orphan children." To this absolute appropriation, he adds the right, should the necessity arise, of claiming the income of residuary funds, amounting, as we learn from a statement by Mr. Biddle in one of the publications on our table, to within a fraction of four millions. The real endowment of the Girard College for Orphans may, therefore, be set down, in round numbers, at six million dollars. As at least half this property is real estate in Philadelphia, and continually increasing in value, the capital will ultimately be larger than it is at present. This bequest is without a parallel in the annals of individual munificence. It is nearly, if not quite, equal to the capital of the London blue-coat school, the most wealthy of the eleemosynary institutions of Great Britain, whose funds were contributed by successive British monarchs. The whole of the Smithsonian bequest, about which so much has been said, scarcely amounts to the double of what the yearly receipts of the Girard College will be. Well did Mr. Biddle, in his eloquent address on the occasion of laying the corner stone, say of Mr. Girard :

"His will, indeed, be the most durable basis of all human distinction-a wise benevolence in the cause of letters. The ordinary charity, which feeds or clothes the distressed, estimable as it is, relieves only the physical wants of the sufferer. But the enlightened beneficence, which looks deeper into the wants of our nature— which not merely prolongs existence, but renders that existence a blessing, by pouring into these recesses of sorrow the radiance of moral and intellectual cultivation-this it is which forms the world's