may not then advert to this relation in particular. But when I consider what figures are capable of being inscribed in the circle, it is by no means necessary to hold that all quadrilateral figures are of this number; on the contrary, I cannot even imagine such to be the case so long as I shall be unwilling to accept in thought aught that I do not clearly and distinctly conceive: and consequently there is a vast difference between false suppositions, as is the one in question, and the true ideas that were born with me, the first and chief of which is the idea of God. For indeed I discern on many grounds that this idea is not factitious, depending simply on my thought, but that it is the representation of a true and immutable nature: in the first place, because I can conceive no other being, except God, to whose essence existence (necessarily) pertains; in the second, because it is impossible to conceive two or more gods of this kind; and it being supposed that one such God exists, I clearly see that he must have existed from all eternity, and will exist to all eternity; and finally, because I apprehend many other properties in God, none of which. I can either diminish or change.

But, indeed, whatever mode of probation I in the end adopt, it always returns to this, that it is only the things I clearly and distinctly conceive which have the power of completely persuading me. And, although, of the objects I conceive in this manner, some, indeed, are obvious to every one, while others are only discovered after close and careful investigation, nevertheless, after they are once discovered, the latter are not esteemed less certain than the former. Thus, for example, to take the case of a rightangled triangle, although it is not so manifest at first that the square of the base is equal to the squares of the other two sides, as that the base is opposite to the greatest angle; nevertheless, after it is once apprehended, we are as firmly persuaded of the truth of the former as of the latter. And, with respect to God, if I were not preoccupied by prejudices, and my thought beset on all sides by the continual presence of the images of sensible objects, I should know nothing sooner or more easily than the fact of his being. For is there any truth more clear than the existence of a Supreme Being, or of God, seeing it is his essence alone that (necessary and eternal) existence pertains? And although the right conception of this truth has cost me much close thinking, nevertheless at present I feel not only as assured of it as of what I deem most certain, but I remark further that the

certitude of all other truths is so absolutely dependent on it, that without this knowledge it is impossible ever to know anything perfectly.

For although I am of such a nature as to be unable, while I possess a very clear and distinct apprehension of a matter, to resist the conviction of its truth, yet because my constitution is also such as to incapacitate me from keeping my mind continually fixed on the same object, and as I frequently recollect a past judgment without at the same time being able to recall the grounds of it, it may happen meanwhile that other reasons are presented to me which would readily cause me to change my opinion, if I did not know that God existed; and thus I should possess no true and certain knowledge, but merely vague and vacillating opinions. Thus, for example, when I consider the nature of the (rectilineal) triangle, it most clearly appears to me, who have been instructed in the principles of geometry, that its three angles are equal to two right angles, and I find it impossible to believe otherwise, while I apply my mind to the demonstration; but as soon as I cease from attending to the proc ess of proof, although I still remember that I had a clear comprehension of it, yet I may readily come to doubt of the truth demonstrated, if I do not know that there is a God: for I may persuade myself that I have been so constituted by nature as to be sometimes deceived, even in matters which I think I apprehend with the greatest evidence and certitude, especially when I recollect that I frequently considered many things to be true and certain which other reasons afterwards constrained me to reckon as wholly false.

But after I have discovered that God exists, seeing I also at the same time observed that all things depend on him, and that he is no deceiver, and thence inferred that all which I clearly and distinctly perceive is of necessity true: although I no longer attend to the grounds of a judgment, no opposite reason can be alleged sufficient to lead me to doubt of its truth, provided only I remember that I once possessed a clear and distinct comprehension of it. My knowledge of it thus becomes true and certain. And this same knowledge extends likewise to whatever I remember to have formerly demonstrated, as the truths of geometry and the like: for what can be alleged against them to lead me to doubt of them? Will it be that my nature is such that I may be frequently deceived? But I already know that I cannot be

deceived in judgments of the grounds of which I possess a clear knowledge. Will it be that I formerly deemed things to be true and certain which I afterwards discovered to be false? But I had no clear and distinct knowledge of any of those things, and, being as yet ignorant of the rule by which I am assured of the truth of a judgment, I was led to give my assent to them on grounds which I afterwards discovered were less strong than at the time I imagined them to be. What further objection, then, is there? Will it be said that perhaps I am dreaming (an objection I myself lately raised), or that all the thoughts of which I am now conscious have no more truth than the reveries of my dreams? But, although, in truth, I should be dreaming, the rule still holds that all which is clearly presented to my intellect is indisputably true.

And thus I very clearly see that the certitude and truth of all science depends on the knowledge alone of the true God, insomuch that, before I knew him, I could have no perfect knowledge of any other thing. And now that I know him, I possess the means of acquiring a perfect knowledge respecting innumerable matters, as well relative to God himself and other intellectual objects as to corporeal nature, in so far as it is the object of pure mathematics (which do not consider whether it exists or not).

Meditation V. complete. From the "Meditations,»

translated by John Veitch, LL. D.

THOMAS FROGNALL DIBDIN

(1776-1847)

SIBDIN not only defined the symptoms of Bibliomania as a disease, but so systematized them that it may be said he reduced the disease to a science. He was born at Calcutta in 1776, and was educated at Oxford for the bar; but not finding law to his taste, he gave it up for the Church. From 1804 until his death, November 18th, 1847, he was professionally a clergyman of the Church of England, but his love for old and rare books made him a "bibliomaniac," and perhaps the most celebrated of all bibliographers as well. His "Introduction to a Knowledge of the Rare and Valuable Editions of the Latin and Greek Classics" appeared in 1803, and in 1809 his "Bibliomania, "- deservedly the most popular of his works. He published also "The Library Companion" (1824), "Reminiscences of a Literary Life" (1836), and “Bibliographical, Antiquarian, and Picturesque Tour in the Northern Counties of England and Scotland" (1838).

W

THE BIBLIOMANIA

(An Essay on the Disease by a Victim)

HEN the poetical Epistle of Dr. Ferriar, under the popular title of the "Bibliomania," was announced for publication, I honestly confess that, in common with many of my book-loving acquaintance, a strong sensation of fear and of hope possessed me: of fear, that I might have been accused, however indirectly, of having contributed towards the increase of this Mania; and of hope, that the true object of book collecting, and literary pursuits, might have been fully and fairly developed. The perusal of this elegant epistle dissipated alike my fears and my hopes; for, instead of caustic verses and satirical notes, I found a smooth, melodious, and persuasive panegyric,— unmixed, however, with any rules for the choice of books, or the regulation of study.

To say that I was not gratified by the perusal of it would be a confession contrary to the truth; but to say how ardently I

anticipated an amplification of the subject, how eagerly I looked forward to a number of curious, apposite, and amusing anecdotes and found them not therein, is an avowal of which I need not fear the rashness, when the known talents of the detector of Sterne's plagiarisms are considered. I will not, however, disguise to you that I read it with uniform delight, and that I rose from the "erusal with a keener appetite for

The small, rare volume, black with tarnished gold.

- Dr. Ferriar. Epistle V. 138.

Whoever undertakes to write down the follies which grow out of an excessive attachment to any particular pursuit, be that pursuit horses, hawks, dogs, guns, snuffboxes, old china, coins, or rusty armor, may be thought to have little consulted the best means of insuring success for his labors, when he adopts the dull vehicle of Prose for the communication of his ideas, not considering that from Poetry ten thousand bright scintillations are struck off, which please and convince while they attract and astonish. Thus when Pope talks of allotting for

"Pembroke statues, dirty Gods and Coins;

Rare monkish manuscripts for Hearne alone;
And books to Mead and butterflies to Sloane,"

when he says that

"These Aldus printed, those Du Sueil has bound» moreover that

"For Locke or Milton 'tis in vain to look;
These shelves admit not any modern book";

he not only seems to illustrate the propriety of the foregoing remark by showing the immense superiority of verse to prose, in ridiculing reigning absurdities, but he seems to have had a pretty strong foresight of the Bibliomania which rages at the present day. However, as the Ancients tell us that a Poet cannot be a manufactured creature, and as I have not the smallest pretensions to the "rhyming art" (although in former times I did venture to dabble with it), I must of necessity have recourse to Prose; and, at the same time, to your candor and forbearance in perusing the pages which ensue.