Induction and Experience are names to which is often assigned the honour of being the source of all our knowledge. But what induction and experience consist in, is what we are supposed to be already aware of; and that is--it may be briefly said--the concentration of the felt and sense-given fragments into an intimate unity. The accidents and fortunes that have befallen us in lapses of time, the scenes that have been set before and around us in breadths of space, are condensed into a mood of mind, a habitual shading of judgment, or frame of thought. The details of fact re-arrange themselves into a general concept; their essence gets distilled into a concentrated form. Their meaning disengages itself from its embodiment, and floats as a self-sustaining form in an ideal world. Thus if we look at the larger process of history, we see every period trying to translate the sensuous fact of its life into a formula of thought, and to fix it in definite characters. The various parts of existence, and existence as a whole, are stripped of their sensible or factual nature, in which we originally feel and come into contact with them, and are reduced to their simple equivalents in terms of thought. From sense and immediate feeling there is, in the first place, generated an image or idea which at least represents and stands for reality; and from that, in the second place, comes a thought or notion proper, which holds the facts in unity. The phenomenon may, perhaps, be illustrated by the case of numbers. To the adult European, numbers and numbering are an obvious and essential part of our scheme of things that seems to need no special explanation. But the experience of children suggests its artificiality, and the evidence from the history of language corroborates that surmise. If number be in a way describable as part of the sense-experience, or total impression, it certainly does not come upon us with the same passivity on our part as the perception of taste or colour, or even of shape. It postulates a higher grade of activity. As Plato says, it 'awakes the intelligence': it implies a question and looks forward to an answer: it is thus the first appearance of what in its later fullness will be called 'Dialectic,' To put it otherwise: Numbering can only proceed where there is a unit, and an identity: it implies a one, and it implies an infinite repetibility of that one[1] It thus postulates the double mental act, first of reducing the various to its basis of identity, and, secondly, of performing a synthesis of the identical units thus created. In the highly artificial world in which we live all this seems simple enough. The products of machinery, articles of furniture, dress, &c., &c., are already uniform items: and the strokes of a clock seem almost to invite summation. But in free nature this similarity is much less obviously stamped on things: and the products of primitive art--of literal _manu_-facture--display an