recognition, yet so baffling the attempt with their numbers and their confusion, that a thousand masquerades in one would have seemed to threaten less torment to the pen of a reporter."

We noticed above how poetry was expressed in an implication rather than in a definition, and we have the same remark to make of the following striking account of the cause of our laughter, in opposition to Hobbes' theory about our sense of superiority.

"On occasions of pure mirth and fancy, we only feel superior to the pleasant defiance which is given to our wit and comprehension; we triumph not insolently but congenially; not to any one's disadvantage, but simply to our own joy and reassurance. The reason is partly physical and partly mental. In proportion to the vivacity of the surprise, a check is given to the breath, different in degree, but not in nature, from that which is occasioned by dashing against some pleasant friend round a corner. The breath recedes only to re-issue with double force; and the happy convulsion which it undergoes in the process, is laughter. Do I triumph over my friend in the laughter? Surely not. I only triumph over the strange and sudden jar which seemed to put us for the moment in the position of antagonists."

"Now this apparent antagonism is the cause per se of the laughter occa

sioned by wit. Our surprise is the consequence of a sudden and agreeable perception of the incongruous; sudden, because even when we laugh at the recollection of it, we undergo in imagination a return of the suddenness, or the liveliness of the first impression (which is the reason why we say of a good thing, that it is always "new"), and agreeable, because the jar against us is not so violent as to hinder us from recurring to that habitual idea of fitness by which the shock of the surprise is made easy." We know of no better description of wit than this. Indeed, if wit be nowhere accurately defined in the essay, it is abundantly illustrated by happy selections and happy remarks. The whole essay is capitally written, and is crowded with quotable bits of this kind: "The jests of the fool in Lear are the sighs of knowledge;" or this, "another bottle makes its appearance, because the last was too much, and it is three in the morning."

In the extracts, we meet with old acquaintances for the most part. They range from Chaucer to Peter Pindar; but some names are unaccountably omitted. Churchill, for instance, while Shakspeare and Pope being in everybody's hands, might have been spared. We will not be grave and critical, however, with so hilarious and genial a work, but recommend it to all who relish wit and humour.

Fanaticism is a favourite term with many. And yet, fond as people are of using it, there is not a word perhaps in the English language which, if asked to explain, they would find it more difficult to define. With many it is merely a convenient nick-name for religion, which, in almost every form, they identify with fanaticism. The two things are, in their eyes, much more

closely allied than the “great wit and madness" of the poet; not divided even by "thin partitions," but merging into each other like the colours of the rainbow. With others, fanaticism means every thing like religious earnestness. So long as religion is a thing of forms and postures, like Poperyor so long as it is a staid genteel-looking thing, visible only on Sabbath, and

then only in the parish church, it may be suffered to pass. But let it give symptoms of life, let it speak above its breath, let it begin to work and get warm; above all, let it be so foolish as to suffer, even unto death, and it is fanaticism. Others, again, stigmatise with this name everthing like vital and experimental religion, and suspect all as fanatics who hold the Scripture doctrine regarding the supernatural influences of the Spirit on the believer.

That there is such a thing as fanaticism cannot be doubted; but we must carefully distinguish between the genuine operations of the Spirit of God, and the unhallowed workings of the spirit of delusion. No two things can be more diametrically opposite: reason is not more distinct from insanity, nor health from disease. But to draw the line of distinction between them, to trace the morbid and the healthy symptoms, is a task as delicate as it is interesting. We greatly doubt whether any writer can be said to be fully qualified for it, who has not himself "tasted the heavenly gift," and who has not "purchased to himself a good degree," by a long course of study and practice in the science of spiritual physiology. At all events, that man must be wholly disqualified for the task, who looks with indiscriminate scepticism and scorn on all that bears the aspect of earnestness in religion. Such a person is incapable of treating the subject with common candour, not to speak of philosophical accuracy. Like those who pretend to ridicule the discoveries of astronomy or geology, without having mastered even the elements of these sciences, in attempting to display his wit, he can only expose his igno

rance.

There are some general features which religious extravagance has exhibited at all the stages of its history, and to trace which, through the various forms it has assumed, would form a very curious study. Among these, one of the most invariable is disrespect to the written Word, and the ordinances of religion. So long as the Scriptures are recognised as the sole rule of faith and duty, as the appoint

ed medium through which the Spirit acts on the soul, and as the plain intelligible record of the Divine will, to be interpreted, like any other book, according to the rules of a sound, rational exegesis, there can be little danger of being misled into false enthusiasm. But the moment that we lose sight of this guiding star, and begin to plead for some immediate action of the Spirit on the mind, irrespective of his own written revelation, that moment we diverge from the straight line,, and place ourselves within the perilous influence of religious eccentricity. The soul possessing a scriptural faith may occasionally oscillate towards errors and extremes; but, like the perturbations of the planets, which as-tronomers tell us are occasioned by their proximity to other heavenly bodies, as yet undiscovered perhaps, these deviations are counteracted by the grand principle which preserves them in their proper orbit, revolving round the central luminary of the system. The fanatic, again, renouncing the guidance of Scripture, though he may not deny its inspiration, may be likened to those wandering stars which " move in orbits inclined at all possible angles, and in all possible directions." The compass may be in the vessel, but it is allowed to lie unconsulted in the binnacle; the eye of the steersman is on some bright particular star" of his own fancy. "Thy word," says the humble believ er, "is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path." But our enthusiast needs no such lamp; he has a “light within” which serves all his purpose. He is quite independent of all bibles, ministers, sermons, or sacraments. Away with a word which may be set up in types, bound up in boards, turned over with the finger, or read with the carnal eye! He has the word within, invisible, intangible, infallible.

Closely connected with this, we may remark another feature of family likeness among the various tribes of fanaticism-namely, spiritual pride. Unlike that "humbleness of mind" which is one of the first-fruits of the Spirit, and which is so conspicuous in

the fantastic airs of fanaticism, than the sober, sagacious, manly, and comprehensive religion of Knox and his compeers. This same remark applies to the days of Melville and of Henderson. The best evidence of this is that during the whole century, comprising the first and second reformation, that is from 1560 to 1660-the century during which Presbyterianism was the predominant form of religion-not a single sect arose in Scotland. What some may deem a still more satisfying proof, during the whole of that period, there were literally no dissenters. If the clergy leant to any extreme, it was to any but the fanatical. Truth compels us to say that they were far from being over-scrupulous about spiritual character in the admission of members to the church, or from aiming at great heights of spirituality in their ministrations. All went to the parish church, and all in the parish, above a certain age, were allowed to go to the Lord's table. Even "visible saintship," as it is called, was not required to constitute a church member. The services of the sanctuary were conducted with what some would consider the most frigid decorum; few appeals were made to the feelings, and fewer still to the fancy. About the end of the period we have referred to, after the country had been overrun with the English sectaries, we find Baillie complaining of one of his protesting brethren, who had begun to imitate them in his mode of preaching. "The man's vehemency in this," he says, "and in his prayer, a strange kind of sighing, the like whereof I had never heard, as a Pythonizing out of the belly of a second person, made me amazed." In the same style he speaks of Andrew Gray, another of the Protesters :- "He has the new guise of preaching, which Mr Hugh Binning and Mr Robert Leighton (afterwards Archbishop) began; disdaining the ordinary way of expounding and dividing a text, of raising doctrines and uses; but runs out on a discourse on some common head, in a high, romancing, and unscriptural style, tickling the ear for the present, and moving the affections in some, but leaving, as he confesses, lit

tle or nought to the memory and understanding." The astonishment expressed at the innovation, shews the regularity that had previously prevailed. How different was the case during the same period in England, where no sooner had the heavy hand of civil and religious despotism been lifted off than the nation rushed headlong into all the excesses of the wildest fanaticism! We have before us "A description of the hereticks and sectaries, sprung up in these latter times," drawn up by Ephraim Pagitt in 1647; in which he enumerates fifty of them. The very names of these sects have now been forgotten. There were Brownists, Familists, Adamites, Traskites, Soul-sleepers, Divorcers, Seekers, Anti - Sabbatarians, Wilkinsonians, Hetheringtonians, Muggletonians, Grindletonians, &c. &c. &c. Edwards in his Gangræna, has catalogued the monstrous opinions and practices of these sects, amounting to one hundred and seventy-six, all "vented and acted in England in these four last years!" "Our dear brethren of Scotland," says Edwards, "stand amazed and astonished, and had they not seen these things, could not have believed them."

The freedom of Scotland from such excesses may be traced in a great measure no doubt to our national character, in which cool caution and calculating shrewdness have been generally deemed prominent features. But much also must be ascribed to our Presbyterianism, the whole economy of which, as adopted by our reformers, was fitted to keep out fanaticism, was unpropitious to its growth, and inimical to its very presence. The clergy, in the first place, were regularly educated in the system of theology. They were not left, as those of England were, to pick up their theological knowlege, like the birds of the air, wherever chance might throw it in their way, or to form each a system for himself, as conscience or conceit might dictate. The "common places" of divinity were inculcated in all the schools of the prophets; the whole system of divine truth, arranged in logical precision, according to the ap

proved rules of Aristotle, and as taught in the most celebrated foreign universities, was studied by all who aimed at the ministry; the morbid forms of doctrine were anatomized; and our old students, with wits sharpened by debate, and "well instructed in the kingdom of God," would have been as much ashamed of the puling sentimentalism, the ranting extravagance, or the grotesque capering of the fanatic, as our modern youths would be of betraying their ignorance of the planetary system by misnaming or misplacing the heavenly bodies. The people, again, were carefully instructed in the principles of religion from their earliest youth, under the eye of a ministry, endeared to them as the objects of their choice, and venerated for their official character; while the discipline of the Church, wisely and firmly administered, checked all erratic and disorderly courses at their very outset. An English divine, it is said, once observed to King James VI. that he was surprised why the Scottish Church was never troubled with heresy. "I'll tell you, man, how it is," replied his majesty, "if it spring up in a paroch, there is an eldership to take notice of it and suppress it; if it be too strong for them, the presbytery is ready to crush it; if the presbytery cannot provide against the obstinate, in the synod he shall find more witty heads; and if he cannot be convinced there, the general assembly will not spare him." And if heresy had thus to run the gauntlet, in the face of day, through the lines of the assembled officers and people, pommelled with texts, pelted with censures, and finally drummed out of the ranks in disgrace, it was not very likely that fanaticism, which is always accompanied with heresy, would find a convenient stage on which to exhibit, or a favouring audience to applaud its gambols.

The first appearance of fanaticism in Scotland was an importation from England in the shape of Quakerism. In 1662, the year of the Scottish St Bartholomew act, by which so many of the best ministers were ejected from manse, pulpit, and parish, to make room for the Episcopal incumbents, a few

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English Quakers, encouraged by reports of the favourable disposition of some Independents who had sprung up during the Commonwealth under the patronage of Principal Row, came on a visit to Aberdeen. It would be doing injustice to the quiet and money-making community known under this designation in modern times, to identify them in all points with their representatives of the 17th century. The gross heresies, the extravagant notions, and disorderly practices of the ancient Quakers, which exposed them to many hardships in England, and brought down on them the denunciations even of such men of sense and moderation as Sir Matthew Hale, no longer obtrude themselves so offensively on the public eye. Among their first converts in Scotland was Alexander Jaffray, at one time Provost of Aberdeen. Jaffray, who appears from his diary to have been a weak but pious and well-meaning man, continued a Presbyterian till the unfortunate battle of Dunbar, where he was severely wounded; and, having been picked up more dead than alive from the field, he was carried to the quarters of the victorious general. There, while the wounds which Cromwell's Ironsides had inflicted on him were healing, he was assailed by that martial disputant and his chaplain, the famous Dr John Owen, with the weapons of controversy, and, before they had parted with him, they succeeded in converting their prisoner into an Independent. The ex-provost evidently regarded the whole of this affair as providentially arranged for the opening of his eyes to the true light; Cromwell's victory over the Scots in the field was a clear proof of the errors of presbytery; his conquest over himself in the barrack-room was a demonstration no less strong of the truth of independency. He began by questioning all national religion and national covenants; religion with him became solely a personal concern; a profession of the Christian religion with a corresponding life were thenceforth discarded as insufficient, and nothing short of a profession of personal saintship, to be judged of by those who also professed themselves to be saints, could be sus