ted it may be, the truth of which cannot be demonstrated. This assertion must not be misunderstood; we do not pretend to say that a thing which is unknown can be explained, that its reality can be demonstrated. We speak only of things which are known. We know that the grass grows; the fact can be explained, and demonstrated with all precision, but how it grows, or why it grows, we do not know, and of this can give no explanation. We know that our will causes motions of our body; we can prove it, but how or why it operates in this manner, is unknown, and inexplicable.

Most persons recognise numberless facts, of the truth of which they can give no account, except that they know them: indeed there are few persons who can explain all their ideas. But the man of a cultivated mind analyzes most of or nearly all his thoughts, while the rustic contents himself with asserting that things are so and so, ridicules those who are unwilling to govern themselves by appearances, and stigmatizes, as deranged, the man who opposes one of his dogmas.

We can regard it as nothing but an appeal to vulgar prejudices, when we hear an assertion like the following. In every process of reasoning, we proceed by founding one step upon another, which has gone before it, and when we trace such a process backwards, we must arrive at certain truths, which are recognised as fundamental, requiring no proof and admitting of none.'

Let us consider some of the primary truths of Abercrombie. The first fact that we know, is our own existence as sentient or thinking beings: this is the foundation of all our other knowledge. At what period do we know our existence, and how is it discovered? Abercrombie does not pretend, and cannot pretend that a knowledge of that period is a first truth, nor that the manner in which we first discover that we exist, is a first truth. These two curious questions are then left by him open to discussion. In order to decide them, we must determine with precision in what our existence consists,—our existence as sentient or thinking beings. It obviously consists in nothing else than in having sensations or thoughts: for if we had no sensations or thoughts, we should not be sentient or thinking beings. The moment therefore that we have a sensation, properly so called, a remembrance, a judgment or a desire, that moment we are sensible of our existence. In

other words, from that moment it is demonstrated to us that we exist.

Although we have here not directly considered any of the first truths of Abercrombie, it is evident that one of them is demonstrated, if we have succeeded in what we attempted. But, says one, our sensations or simple ideas are sometimes illusions, and we do not know that they are not so in this case, as well as in every other. This assertion we deny. Our sensations or simple ideas are never illusions. If I see a spectre, I certainly have a sensation; though it may be the same as that which I receive from a real being, and though I attribute it to a wrong cause. If a white house, from being seen in the night, or from some other cause, appears black, I have the sensation, the simple idea of black; experience proves the fact; but if I attribute the quality black to the house, I form a compound idea of this house, which is false. The disciple of Abercrombie may maintain, that since we have shown that our existence consists in having sensations or feelings, in order to prove that we really exist, we should demonstrate that we have a feeling that we know the fact. We answer,that we have feelings is a truth of experience, inaccessible to error,—it is not taken for granted, but is proved by experience; to have a feeling and to know that we have it is the same thing. If we attribute the quality of feeling, which we possess, whether of simple or compound ideas, to an immaterial essence, or to our organization, we form a compound idea, which may be true, or which may be false.

The celebrated Descartes proved our existence somewhat in the same manner, but gave no explanation. 'I think,' said he, therefore I exist.' The metaphysicians of the Edinburgh school suppose that he begged the question in this case. But we think that the sentiments of so profound a philosopher as Descartes should be examined with a little attention, before coming to such a conclusion. We should not be deceived by the form of his argument. It is evident that he considered our existence to consist in thinking; our simple thoughts or ideas he knew, and supposed his readers understood, to be more clearly and unerringly demonstrated to us by experience. He therefore very naturally and correctly concluded that he had proved our existence.

We have given some of the arguments of the unionist con

cerning the second part of Abercrombie's first primary truth, and we apprehend that those of his school will find it much easier to call them fallacious, sophistical, reasonings in a circle, &c., than to demonstrate their obscurity. The other primary truths, which he recognises, are very complicated ideas, and we think they ought not to be stated in a treatise on intellectual philosophy, where the professed object is to explain the origin of our thoughts, unless they are also analyzed, and their truth or falsity, or more properly, the reasons of their truth or falsity determined. For, we repeat it, the belief of one man, of a thousand men, or of all mankind, is no proof: though it may be entitled, from its prevalence, to a careful consideration,-to a consideration sufficient to determine the grounds of its certainty or fallacy.

On the whole, the work of Dr. Abercrombie must be considered as containing much useful information. The method of communicating the result of his researches, may not be the one best calculated to improve the science of ideas; but we have many valuable facts stated, which are especially important for the profession of which he is a member. With the exception of a few addresses to the passions and prejudices of the multitude, he pursues the course of a lover of truth, who is willing to have the sentiments which he adopts stand or fall by their merits. For the humble spirit of a Christian, which appears in many parts of his writings, he merits the respect of all. If some of his arguments are formed with little attention to vigor, we must remember that he did not write for the instruction of professors, but for many who cannot appreciate a course of reasoning that is not conducted in a popular manner. And besides, his inquiries were pursued, during the short and irregular intervals of his practice. There are many interesting anecdotes interspersed throughout the work, which afford amusement, and give a relief to the whole. articles on reason, and the application of the rules of philosophical investigation to medical science, we propose to notice hereafter.

The

ART. X.-Swallow Barn.

Swallow Barn, or a Sojourn in the Old Dominion. 2 vols. 12mo. Philadelphia. 1832.

This is a work of great merit and promise. It is attributed to a gentleman of Baltimore, already advantageously known to the public by several productions of less compass, and in various styles, but all excellent in their respective ways. The present attempt proves that he combines, with the talent and spirit which he had previously exhibited, the resource, perseverance and industry, that are necessary to the accomplishment of extensive works. We do not know that we can better evince our friendly feeling for him than by expressing the wish, that the success which this production has met with may induce him to withdraw his attention from other objects, and devote himself entirely to the elegant pursuits of polite literature, for which his taste and talent are so well adapted, and in which the demand for labor,-to borrow an expression from a science, to which he is no stranger,—is still more pressing than in law, political economy, or politics.

The object of the work before us is to give, in the form of a novel, a description of the manners and customs of the ancient Commonwealth of Virginia: or, in the favorite phrase of its inhabitants, the Old Dominion. Its value lies in the truth and spirit with which this purpose is effected. The texture of the fable is natural, and sufficiently ingenious, though from the nature of the plan, it does not excite a very deep and strong interest. Swallow Barn is the residence of Frank Meriwether, a wealthy Virginian landholder. An introductory epistle, which is addressed from this place by Mark Littleton to his correspondent Francis Huddlestone, Esq.,.at Preston Ridge, New York, informs us, that Mark, at the strong instance of his cousin, Ned Hazard, has been induced to come and spend some little fragment of his life among his Virginia relations.' It also gives the particulars of his travels from Longsides on the North River, where he had previously been residing with his mother and sisters, to the neighborhood of Jamestown, where Mr. Meriwether's estate is supposed to be situated. The opening chapters of the work make us acquainted with this personage and the several subordinate characters, male

6

and female, who compose his family: his wife Lucretia, his son Rip, his daughters Lucy and Victorine, his sister Prudence, the house-keeper, Mrs. Barbara Winkle, the Presbyterian tutor, Mr. Chub, and last, though not least, a ‘pragmatical old negro named Carey,' who seems, for many purposes, to be a sort of Viceroy over his master. We e are next introduced, at some length, to Ned Hazard, the compagnon 'de voyage of the author, and the humorist and lover of the plot, after which the scene changes to The Brakes,-a neighboring plantation occupied by Mr. Isaac Tracy, whose daughter Bel turns out to be the heroine. The two principal characters of the work, considered as a mere novel, are thus brought into presence, and the art of the writer consists as usual in inventing expedients to keep them separate for the space of two volumes, and thus prevent, for the necessary length of time, a consummation that would bring the work to a premature close. We will not diminish the interest, which our readers will feel in following out the development of the story, by entering into a detail of the nature of these expedients, which are of a very natural and simple description. The difficulties that are brought into action for the purpose of obstructing the course of true love between the principal personages, which, in a novel, never can or ought to run smooth, as in real life we know that it never does, are in part their own wayward humors, they being little better than a modern Benedict and Beatrice, and in part a lawsuit of long standing between the parents. After a series of incidents and adventures, which are so contrived as to exhibit the life of a country gentleman in Virginia under almost all its aspects, public and private, the hero and heroine make up their minds, the lawsuit is adjusted by a reference, Mr. Littleton returns to Longsides, and the work terminates in the usual way.

Such are the general object and character of this production; the style of the execution will best appear from a few extracts. The first chapter is occupied by the following very graphic and amusing description of the mansion which furnishes the title of the work.

'Swallow Barn is an aristocratical old edifice, that squats, like a brooding hen, on the southern bank of the James River. It is quietly seated, with its vassal out-buildings, in a kind of shady pocket or nook, formed by a sweep of the stream, on a gentle acclivity thinly sprinkled with oaks, whose magnificent branches afford habitation and defence to an antique colony of owls.