ceived of the animal as only physical and intellectual, but man as possessing, in addition, the power of performing moral acts, and that he was a responsible being. The apostle seemed to look at the soul, the oxy of the Greeks, as not being capable of doing all that man as a responsible being could do. There was something added to this soul, which was spirit, a vevμa; and this spirit was capable of performing other acts which an animal, with only the

x, could not perform. The dog, for instance, has in the Greek sense a xŋ which is the living principle, and which performs acts of intelligence; but he has no perception of responsibility. It is not in his nature. He has no conception of right and wrong. There is something in man which is an addition to this living principle, which is the seat of intelligence. It is the spirit, or that which perceives and appreciates the moral quality of an act. It is this which separates man from the brute. It is the definition which Bishop Butler gives of man in the beginning of his "Essay on Virtue."

But, in examining these three functions, which the soul of man performs, we shall find that these two, to which St. Paul refers, are brought into distinct view, and that the division fully sets forth the intellectual and spiritual character of man. And possibly we shall avoid any cross-division, or any confusion, by confining ourselves to the three func

tions which the soul performs; namely, knowing, feeling, and willing.

I. The first operation which the soul performs is that of acquiring knowledge. Dr. Whewell wrote with great truth to a friend, on the birth of a son, that the child would acquire more knowledge in the first two years of his existence than the father would. in many years. He is brought into connection with the material and external world; and he shows by his efforts and his failures that he is groping his way, and learning the existence and the independence and the relation of material things. He is receiving into his mind the facts of the external world. The toys with which he amuses himself, and which he seems to delight in breaking, are the instruments of his experiments, by which there is developed the knowledge of certain relations that occupy the attention of the profoundest philosophers. The child soon comes to know that there is being and space and time and cause and final ends and a Great First Cause. That his toys have an independent existence, and that they are one thing and not another, and that they occupy a definite place, and have dimensions which can be compared, and that they were possessed yesterday as well as to-day, and that they do not carry on their operations except through the application of some force, which is a cause, and that they were made for some purpose, and to accomplish

some end, he has come to know and to recognize. These are the first efforts of the mind; but they are efforts through which every human mind goes, because the child is a partaker of the common human

nature.

The first recognized process is that of the senses, -seeing, hearing, touching, tasting, and smelling. These are the inlets to the soul, through which a knowledge of external material nature comes into the mind, and makes a lodgement. The process begun in infancy goes on through all the life. The impression made is recognized and appreciated in the consciousness of the mind. The sentient soul knows the operations which are going on. It perceives the impressions.

There can be no doubt that knowledge is lodged in the mind in some mysterious manner. What we perceived by the senses yesterday has not been lost. It is laid up in the mind for future use. There is an accumulation of knowledge constantly going on. We can make no conscious observation of it while it is resting in the mind. We cannot say that in the interval between the time when it is lodged in the mind, and the time when it is again brought under our notice, we have any knowledge of it, because we have in no way been conscious of it. In that interval it makes no impression which we can recognize, produces no effect of which we are conscious. But

that it is there, we know, because we can reproduce it. We are as certain that it has been there, as we are that the material thing which we have taken from our cabinet has lain there since the time we placed it there.

We get, therefore, another clear and distinct operation of the mind; namely, that of representing the knowledge which was first presented through the senses. And that representation is made in memory, fantasy, and imagination. We recall the knowledge of the object, or event, or thought which we first recognized as having entered into the mind. We saw, or heard, or touched, or tasted, or smelled an object yesterday, or some distant time in the past. We read a book. We sat in silent contemplation or reflection, and a succession of thoughts passed through our minds. All this to-day we can recall. We can image to our minds, and describe to others, all the impressions which these several objects produced on our minds. We can make another person to understand what we saw, and heard, and touched, and tasted, and smelled, or what we read, or the thoughts which passed through our minds. We recall them, or remember them. Memory is a present knowledge of the past, the past as it was presented to the mind for the first time. Or we can abandon the mind to revery, and allow images of objects to present themselves without any determi

nation of their order on our part. This is a sort of waking dream. The exercise of the mind goes on without cessation, and we appear to allow the thoughts to come as they are suggested by the preceding ones. Or we can bring up the images of the objects which have come into the mind, and form a picture of them, on which we can gaze; or we can take these images, and construct them into a figure which has no likeness in reality. This is the highest act of the poet. It is thus that the great epic poems have been created. But all the materials of which the epic has been constructed are images of real things, or thoughts, or relations, or characters which have existed. This, then, is another operation of the mind in knowledge. It recalls, or, as it is usually said, represents, the knowledge which was first acquired or presented.

The next operation of the mind is its dealing with particular and individual things, and getting from them generals. Whatever knowledge we get through the senses, is the knowledge of individual things. But, of course, if we were confined to this kind of knowledge, we should be compelled to have a name for each and every object. We should have to name each tree, and each house. But we have learned to abridge this operation by inventing a name for a whole class of objects. Each of these objects, after it has been lodged in the mind by means of the