CLASSICAL ENTHUSIASM.

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Instead of law, his destination now became the Christian ministry; and at Cambridge, Edinburgh, Heidelberg, Geneva, and eventually Tübingen, he spent six years in preparations which promised to make him one of the most accomplished pastors of the Free Church of Scotland. His application was intense. He frequently spent at his desk from thirteen to fifteen hours a-day; and so exact and systematic were his habits, that on every subject which he touched his acquisitions were scholar-like and thorough. Those who wish to trace his shining path must peruse Mr. Macleod's Memoir. For the sake of our student-readers we must be content to indicate a few of those features which made him so dear to his friends and so conspicuous among many generous and aspiring companions.

As the basis of other excellence, he possessed a mind rich in warmth and cordiality, with all the sagacity and insight which attend sincerity, and powerful in that most formidable kind of strength, a conscientious perseverance. He was a wide and ardent lover. He loved Nature. He loved the Greek and Roman classics. He loved fine pictures and fair buildings. He loved his mother, his sisters, and his College friends, as it is not the lot of many to be loved. And when his affections at last were given to a Heavenly Friend, no consecration could be more entire, no gratitude more personal. In loving so many objects he was happy. We admire and envy him. To his fresh and truthful nature existence was radiant with beauty, and religion was the fulness of joy. And if any of us are without a pursuit or a pleasure, it is not because the universe is empty, but because our eyes are shut or our souls are dead.

Every year thousands of young Britons are conning the most exquisite productions of human genius; but how rarely do any catch a true classical enthusiasm! To how few is Virgil or Homer a companion for life! To how few is

Rome or Athens the Mecca which they long to visit ere they die! But some will be able to enter into the feelings with which, at seven-and-twenty, John Mackintosh ramped through the storied scenes of Italy:

"The thought that Virgil had actually gazed upon those waters, and gathered inspiration and expansion of soul from contemplating those far-off mountains, was thrilling to my spirit, and more than rewarded me for my pilgrimage to Mantua. Satisfied that 'the boy is father of the man,' and that the impressions of youth affect the whole after-tone and character of the mind, I was anxious to see the moulders of the vis Virgilii; and now that I have seen them, I think that I can better comprehend that glorious spirit. What ideas of life, of solitude, of melancholy, must he have learned from the lonely, wandering Mincio; what yearnings, what desires from the bounding mountains! To the north, an unknown, mysterious world, serving for eternity; to the south, the hills that separated him from Rome-the earthly heaven and idol of every Roman. I confess, that in the tame plains of Lombardy I had yet seen, I could not fancy a Virgil being reared; but Mantua will do-nay, Shakspere upon Avon, with the Severn for his muse, was not better off."

Nor can any one feel as Mackintosh felt in visiting Rome, unless amidst Latin poets and historians he has "nourished a youth sublime."

"Oct. 20, 1849.-An epoch in my life! Of course I lay awake all night, thinking of what was before me. Very early in the morning, as Lucifer indeed was just soaring above the horizon, we started for Rome. When day dawned, I discovered the desolate majesty of the Campagna through which we were passing, and which, on this side, for more than twenty miles, separates Rome from common Italy. Broom, furze, brambles, and ferns, cover the whole face of this remarkable country, and the scanty attempts at cultiva

tion serve only to render the wilderness more apparent. It is not that the soil is bad or incapable of produce, as in some parts of Tuscany—no, the vineyards and fields immediately around Rome attest the contrary-but that the common sympathy of mankind appears to have assigned this depth of mourning to the widowed queen of nations. No other homage more fitting to departed greatness-no setting more appropriate to be desired. The soul is thus attuned to melancholy long before you reach the walls of the Eternal City; and were it possible, you would weep, but that your sympathy lies too deep for tears. I never before felt such emotions as crowded this morning in my heart, nor shall I perhaps ever again, except I were privileged to visit Geddes, Greece, or Palestine ! Two miles farther on, we reached the tomb of Nero, and from this point Rome was visible. Like one bereft of reason, I called on the voiturier to stop, took my knapsack, paid him, and descended.

"After investigating the sarcophagus-I satiated myself with gazing on the Apennines, and recognising, from the line of rising fog and glancing water, the course of the Tiber. I then turned round and looked on Rome. The Apennines were precisely as I had pictured them, only more beautiful; approaching, however, too near the city on the south, instead of bearing away in hazy outline towards Lucania and Apulia.-About a mile from Rome I reached the Ponte Molle, near which, I think, were the head-quarters of the French army during the siege. Sad havoc among the trees, whole rows of which were felled; and the partial demolition of the bridge attested the recent hand of war. I was able, however, to cross with the aid of planks. Before me now rolled the yellow Tiber, and my heart and head filled. It looked familiar, and I recognised it as an old acquaintance. St. Peter's and the Castle of San Angelo appeared on the right bank; on the left a multitude of

domes and towers. Walking on a mile through a long suburb, I at length reached the Porta del Popolo, when, after regarding the further havoc on the Villa Borghese, without the gate, I uncovered my head, and entered the Eternal City!"

Could the spirit of Arnold or Bunsen have been stirred more profoundly? And when at last repaid by such ecstatic emotions, who would grudge the durance of school or the long vigils of college?

Like most ardent students, Mackintosh was warmly attached to his teachers, and it was the felicity of his frank and open nature to win their friendship in return. When attending the Natural Philosophy course in Edinburgh he so gained the regard of Professor James Forbes that he invited him to accompany him in a Continental tour in the summer of 1841. The charming scenes through which they passed, and the society still more charming of a friend who lit up every spot with the gladness of his spirit and the profusion of his information, left on the youthful pilgrim an ineffacable impression, and henceforth Continental wandering became his favourite pastime and an important part of his education. Perhaps he indulged in the luxury too freely; but with his social disposition, his sound judgment, and his rare susceptibilities of enjoyment, we have seldom known a young traveller on whom foreign scenes had a more expanding and elevating influence, accompanied with less injury to his home affections and his piety; and it is long since we have read any similar composition with deeper interest than the journals of his Swiss and Italian tours. The reader has already had a specimen of his rapture in scenes of classical consecration. The following extract may show how he could appreciate works of art, and how little pedantry and conventionalism mingled with his admiration:

seem.

THE CATHEDRAL OF MILAN.

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"Milan Cathedral. After a rapid survey I entered by the western door. The people who paced the nave served to illustrate its vast proportions, such pigmies did they The effect was very imposing; by degrees I allowed myself to advance-gazing above, around, and forwards; and of a truth I felt that there could be religion expressed in a building. It is one of the few temples made with hands' that seem to be at all adequate to the conceptionthe dim light, the gigantic pillars, the heavenward bearing of all-shall I say the mystery and indefiniteness of the edifice?—all pointed to that faith which is sublime yet lowly, revealed yet hidden. I was solemnised, tranquillised, awed, encouraged. . . . The structure is vast, and of solid marble-a quarry having been bequeathed for the purpose by one of its founders. Although so massive, it rises very clean from the ground, and has an air of particular lightness and elegance beyond all I have ever seen: no doubt this is greatly owing to its vast number of tall, sky-pointing minarets. . . . Each of these is surmounted by a full-length figure, angel or saint; and the effect of this in white marble, seen against a clear light-blue sky, is altogether indescribable. . . . From its foundation till now it has never been without scaffolding in some quarter or other, having been brought thus gradually to its present state, which is not even yet that of completion. Is not this fact, which applies to so many cathedrals, significant of the religion itself, which so far from having yet completed its part in the world and being now effete, has not yet, I verily believe, reached the climax of its wonderful and awful destinies ?"

Both in Britain and America, it has been remarked that young theologians have often lost their spirituality and fervour whilst studying at Continental universities. It would appear, however, that Mackintosh lost little, whilst