short, the two systems may be aptly represented by the two sections of a line, in Plato’s Republic. In the ancient, you have truth itself, and whatever participates of the brightest evidence and reality: in the modern, ignorance, and whatever belongs to obscurity and shadow. The former fills the soul with intelligible light, breaks her lethargic fetters, and elevates her to the principle of things; the latter clouds the intellectual eye of the soul, by increasing her oblivion, strengthens her corporeal bands, and hurries her downwards into the dark labyrinths of matter. Nor is it wonderful there should be so great a difference between the two systems, and so much in favour of the ancients, if we consider the great advantages these ancients possessed over the moderns in every thing which contributes to the advancement of philosophy. For, in the first place, they lived in an age when abstract investigations were in the greatest request, and the professors of such pursuits in the highest estimation. Besides this, they united the most exalted abilities with the most unwearied attention and obstinate perseverance; they devoted their whole lives to the search of truth; and relinquished every thing which might be an obstacle to its acquisition. We may add, likewise, the advantages of a language extremely philosophical; and a freedom from the toil of learning any tongue but their own. Now the reverse of all this is the portion of the moderns: for in the present age, abstract speculations are ridiculed; and its professors despised. The pursuit of truth is considered as perfectly consistent with ordinary avocations, and is rather prosecuted as a relief from the toils of business than as a thing desirable for its own sake, and of the greatest dignity and worth. Hence, a few years desultory application at a college, where language is one of the first objects of attention, qualifies a modern for philosophy, raises him above Pythagoras and Plato, and persuades him, with presumptuous confidence, to enter the lists against these venerable heroes. And lastly, all modern languages are barbarous with respect to the Greek; falling far short of its harmony and energy, its copiousness and propriety. If such then be the true state of the case, what judgment must we form of men who, with all these disadvantages, philosophized without the assistance of the ancients, despising their works, and being ignorant of their contents? Shall we call it prudence or presumption, wisdom or folly? Truth will certainly pronounce the latter; and the general voice of posterity will confirm her decision. There are two egregious instances in our own country of this daring presumption; I mean Bacon and Locke. The former of these is celebrated for having destroyed the jargon of the schoolmen, and brought experimental enquiries into repute; and for attempting to investigate causes through the immensity of particular effects. Hence, he fondly expected, by experiment piled