are laughed at, at any rate disbelieved; they get profanely elbowed in the crowd—men not knowing their
great age and consequent venerableness; the shovel hat,
though apparently born on their head, is treated with
disrespect. The very boys laugh pertly in their face when
they speak, and even old men can scarce forbear a smile,
though it may be a smile of pity. The age affords such
men a place, for it is a catholic age, large-minded, and
tolerant,—such a place as it gives to ancient armour,
Indian Bibles, and fossil bones of the mastodon; it puts
them by in some room seldom used, with other old furniture, and allows them to mumble their anilities by themselves; now and then takes off its hat; looks in, charitably, to keep the mediæval relics in good heart, and pretends to listen, as they discourse of what comes of nothing and goes to it; but in matters which the age
cares about, commerce, manufactures, politics, which it
cares much for, even in education, which it cares far too
little about, it trusts no such counsellors, nor tolerates nor ever affects to listen.
Then there is a philosophical tendency, distinctly visible; a groping after ultimate facts, first principles, and universal ideas. We wish to know first the fact, next the law of that fact, and then the reason of the law. A sign of this tendency is noticeable in the titles of books; we have no longer "treatises" on the eye, the ear, sleep, and so forth, but in their place we find works professing to treat of the "philosophy" of vision, of sound, of sleep. Even in the pulpits, men speak about the "philosophy" of religion; we have philosophical lectures, delivered to men of little culture, which would have amazed our grand-fathers, who thought a shoemaker should never go beyond his last, even to seek for the philosophy of shoes. " What a pity," said a grave Scotchman, in the beginning of this century, "to teach the beautiful science of geometry to weavers and cobblers." Here nothing is too good or high for any one tall and good enough to get hold of it. What audiences attend the Lowell lectures in Boston—two or three thousand men, listening to twelve lectures on the philosophy of fish! It would not bring a dollar or a vote, only thought to their minds! Young ladies are well versed in the philosophy of the affections, and understand the
