And how comes it--how comes it that he who is the first to discover this so fatal and radical defect in the human science, has himself failed to put upon record any of these so vital observations? How comes it that the one who is at last able to put his finger on the spot where the mischief, where all the boundless mischief, is at work here,--where the cure must begin, should content himself with observations and collections in physical history _only_? How comes it that the man who finds that all the old philosophy has failed to become operative for the lack of this historical basis, who finds it so '_exceeding strange_, so _incredible_,' who 'cannot sufficiently marvel,' that these observations should have been omitted in this science, heretofore,--the man who is so sharp upon Aristotle and others, on account of this incomprehensible oversight in their ethics,--_is himself guilty of this very thing_? And how will this defect in _his_ work, compare with that same defect which he is at so much pains to note and describe in the works of others--others who did not know the value of this history? And how can he answer it to his kind, that with the views he has dared to put on record here, of the relation, the _essential_ relation, of this knowledge to human advancement and relief, _he himself has done nothing at all to constitute it, except to write this paragraph_. And yet, by his own showing, the discoverer of this field was himself the man to make collections in it; for he tells us that accidental observations are not the kind that are wanted here, and that the truth of direction must precede the severity of observation. Is this so? Whose note book is it then, that has come into our hands, with the rules and plummet of the new science running through it, where all the observation takes, spontaneously, the direction of this new doctrine of nature, and brings home all its collections, in all the lustre of their originality, in all their multiplicity, and variety, and comprehension, in all the novelty and scientific rigour of their exactness, into the channels of these _defects_ of learning? And who was he, who thought there were more things in heaven and earth, than were dreamt of in old philosophies, who kept his tables always by him for open questions? and whose tablets--whose many-leaved tablets, are they then, that are tumbled out upon us here, glowing with 'all saws, all forms, all pressures past, that youth and observation copied there.' And if aphorisms are made out of the pith and heart of sciences, if 'no man can write good aphorisms who is not sound and grounded,' what Wittenberg, what University was he bred in?