and love expiring, these
faculties themselves shall often in their turn initiate the process
which shall revive them all; some outward object, some incident of
life, some "magic word," some glorious image, some stalwart truth,
suddenly and energetically stated, shall, through the medium of the
senses, the imagination, or the intellect, set the soul once more
in a blaze, and revive the emotions which it is at other times only
their office to express. A sanctified intellect, a hallowed
imagination, devout affections, have a reciprocal tendency to
stimulate each other. In whatever faculty of our nature the stimulus
may be felt,--in the intellect or the imagination,--it is thence
propagated through the mysterious net-work of the soul to the emotions,
the affections, the conscience, the will: or, conversely, these last
may commence the movement and propagate it in reverse order. Each
may become in turn a centre of influence; but so indivisible is the
soul and mind of man, so indissolubly bound together the elements
which constitute them, that the influence once commenced never stops
where it began, but acts upon them all. The ripple, as that of a
stone dropped into still water, no matter where, may be fainter and
fainter the farther from the spot where the commotion began, but it
will stop only with the bank. Ordinarily many functions of the mind
are involved in each, and sometimes all in one.

____

July 24. Yesterday, a somewhat interesting conversation took place
between Harrington and Edward Robinson, a youth at college, a friend
of George Fellowes's family. He is a devout admirer of Strauss, and
thinks that writer has completely destroyed the historical character
of the Gospels. I was, as usual, struck with the candor and logical
consistency with which our sceptic was disposed to regard the subject.

"You have Lingard and Macaulay here, I see," said young Robinson. "I
need hardly ask, I think, which you find the most pleasant reading?"

"You need not, indeed," cried Harrington. "Mr. Macaulay is so superior
to the Roman Catholic historian (though his merits are great too) in
genius, in consequence, in variety and amplitude of knowledge, in
imagination, in style, that there is no comparison between them."

"And do you think Mr. Macaulay as accurate as he is full of genius
and eloquence?"

"If he be not," said Harrington, laughing, "I am afraid there are
very few of us deeply versed enough in history to detect his