the ordinary gardening, consists in the delusion of the eyes (by means of temples, perspective views, grottoes, mazes, waterfalls, to speak in similes), in exhibiting science in extracts, and in all sorts of marvelous aud sudden illuminations, infusing as much indecision, irrationality, and reverie into it as to enable us to roam in it "as in wild nature," yet without trouble and ennui. Those who have this ambition even dream of thereby rendlering religion, which with former generations served as the highest art of diversion, superfluous. All this is running its course, until one day it will attain its springtide. Even in our days hostile voices begin to clamour against philosophy, exclaiming. “Return to science, to Nature, and naturalness of science !” and thus all age may dawn which will discover the most powerful beauty in the "uncultivated, ugly" branches of science, just as since Rousseau we have discovered the sense for the beauty of mountains and deserts.
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Two kinds of moralists.—To become for the first time conscious, and fully conscious, of a law of nature (gravity, reflection of light and sound, for instance), and to explain such a law, are two different things, and concern different intellects. In the same way those moralists who perceive and exhibit human laws and habits— moralists with discriminative ears, noses, eyes—altogether differ from the interpreters of those observations, The
