We have no knowledge, that is, no general principles drawn from the contemplation of particular facts, but what has been built up by pleasure, and exists in us by pleasure alone. The Man of Science, the Chemist and Mathematician, whatever difficulties and disgusts they may have had to struggle with, know and feel this. However painful may be the objects with which the Anatomist's knowledge is connected, he feels that his knowledge is pleasure; and where he has no pleasure he has no knowledge.

That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.

I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, wherever nature led.

Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.

Nature's old felicities.

That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.

Plain living and high thinking are no more.