of intellectual action. I trust that I have profited by whatever is valuable in the letter of his system: at any rate, I venture to hope that, from my acquaintance, both with himself and his writings, I have imbibed some small portion of his philosophic spirit; and that spirit, when left freely to itself, was as gentle as the calm, and yet also as intrepid as the storm.
I am quite aware of what Sir William Hamilton thought of my contributions to metaphysical science. To tell the truth, he thought very little of them. This was after they were thoroughly matured; he did not think so badly of them at first. But after they had been brought to all the conclusiveness of which they seemed susceptible, he pronounced them little better than failures. It is possible that he might have thought better of them if they had been more consonant with his own opinions—even although their merits in other respects might have been less: that is but human nature. As it was, however, he decided against them. But how was it possible for him to have done otherwise? Was he to recant at my bidding the labours of a lifetime? For thirty years past, I have been of opinion that the dedication of his powers to the service of Dr Reid was a perversion of his genius, that this was the one mistake in his career, and that he would have done far better if he had built entirely on his own foundation. Every one must admit that, in his elaborate discussions on Dr Reid, he has written
