The literature of a people is the record of the gifted men of every age, who have lived among them, and made themselves felt upon them; either as they have been first studied with reverence in the closet-and through the minds of those who there read them exerted an indirect influence upon the heart of the community-or as their pages have been soiled in the work-shop and torn by hands hardened at the plough. The distinctive character of the literature of one people, as far as it differs from the literature of another, must be mainly decided by the character of the nation itself. Whatsoever a people is, such is its literature; whatsoever it is in its principles, its aims, its springs of action and its estimates of greatness; and whatsoever also it is, in its morals and manners, so will it be represented in the productions of those who write with an honest mind, and who seek by their writings either to please or profit their countrymen. Every man who writes is of the people, and though he possesses his own peculiarities as an individual, yet he cannot but have much in common with his nation. What is more important, he writes for the people, and of course must speak to their ears, if he expects to gain a hearing. True, his genius must mould and command them at its will, but it must move upon them as they are, or it will not move them at all.

As, therefore, we consider the characteristic features of English literature, we must ask, what are the English people as a nation; or wherein are they strikingly distinguished from every other people; and how have these national characteristics impressed themselves upon their literature?

The English people are a reflecting people. Their actions, their purposes and themselves, they subject to a rigorous and thorough examination-and mould and shape them according to its result. Their object is not to think for the sake of thinking, but to attain its end. They do not discriminate in order to sharpen their acuteness, nor do they speculate, that they may gratify the intellective faculty, but their aim is truth. Of course they believe in the reality and the importance of truth;-that there are principles, in regard to every matter, which, if seized by a strong and retentive grasp, give the secret of happiness and success. By no characteristic are they more strikingly marked, than by their hearty and honest attachment to truth. As a nation they

are most abhorrent of quackery, of quackery in any and every shape-in business, in politics, in morals, and in religion. Now and then they are imposed upon, it is true. Through the excess of his self-confidence, the old gentleman, Mr. Bull, is sometimes taken in, after a manner, which makes all his neighbors, who pretend to less circumspection, to shout with laughter as they tell of it. The mortification however does him all the more good. It serves to strengthen his attachment to the true, which has been so sorely wounded. In matters of business, as they think much and seek to think aright, the English are distinguished by a penetrating sagacity, and a marvellous foresight of the results of things, which to their less calculating neighbors appears to be almost supernatural. That which leads the gayer Frenchman to complain of his neighbor, for being everlastingly so serious,— and the speculating German to find fault that he is always so practical, is yet something which places him far before either, or both united, when any thing is to be accomplished. In questions of politics, while he is ever driving at principles, he is not particularly fond of constitution-making, and rests satisfied with his common law and his British constitution, because they work so well. In questions of morals-religion-he asks, What says conscience, and what the written word? He looks very gruffly at the Frenchman, who tells him there is no such thing as conscience,-at the German, who turns the Bible into moonshine, and at the high-souled Spaniard, who errs through excess of faith. In the high inquiries of mental and moral science, he very quietly suffers twenty German professors to write tomes upon tomes "on truth as refracted through tobacco-smoke;" and half as many Frenchmen to go mad with convulsive ecstasy, at their amazing sublimity and depth, and holds fast to his Locke and his Reid, even though Kant and Cousin might help him out of some sad troubles, in which his own teachers have left him.

The influence of this peculiarity of the English mind, may be traced in the philosophical and reflective cast, which is present so widely in English literature;-and in that trueness to nature and that justness of taste, which pervades it almost universally. This reflective cast of mind, and desire to rest in truth, is most obvious in all our writers, and gives a peculiar hue and complexion, even to the gayest, and

those whose object is merely to amuse. It gives a richer sententiousness to their wit, and a more substantial body to their humor. It supplies to our works of fiction, an interest for minds of the gravest cast, and makes them living fountains of practical wisdom. The best English novelists, and of such there are not a few, are remarkable for making a close observation and reflective study of man the basis of their interest and their power. This is eminently true of Scott, and the justly admired Dickens, to say nothing of others who might be named. These invariably give us the true philosophy of man in domestic and social life-and sometimes carry us up to a point from which we behold him in relation to his highest calling and his noblest destinies. No man can be a successful writer of fiction, for the body of the English people, who is not a philosophical observer of man. English poetry, also, in its general excellence and its loftiest and divinest attainments, is deeply indebted to the philosophical spirit, and the tone of correct thinking, which is so characteristic of the English people. The gift of poesy is not a mere facility in stringing harmonious and well-sounding words, or in rhyming with a lively tinkle. No;-it is higher and nobler than this.-Poetry is the fair and splendid flower, which genius shoots forth from the substantial soil of true and reflective thought-the gay and dazzling robe, with which she clothes and adorns the symmetrical form of truth. No man can be a true poet, much less can one be a great poet, who is not a philosophic thinker, and who has not, with a reflecting gaze, attained a just and fixed view of his inspiring theme.

It may be, that without the reflective faculty, one can succeed in the lower walks of the poet's art, but he can never attain to its highest achievements. He that speaks to the hearts of men, and expects a response, must have learned what is in the heart, by the long and earnest gaze of his inward eye;-he must have thought deeply and pondered well, upon what he has seen therein. He that has no faith in truth, who like Voltaire is never noved with earnest feeling in view of objects believed to be realities,-is incapable of writing poetry at all. He may be gifted with imagination, and have learned his power of language from Mercury himself,-but without truth believed in, he has not the substance with which to work-nor the material from

which poetry in its power over man must ever be woven. Never could Shakspeare have written that which makes the heart-strings to quiver with agony, and to thrill with delight,— nor could Milton have carried the soul upward, to the throne and dwelling place of the Eternal,-never could Cowper have diffused over the mind the peaceful quiet of the fireside, and the calm delights of the rural landscape,-nor Burns have run away with our hearts by the witching music of his love-strains, and the wild excitement of his cheerful songs;-never in short could there have been a Shakspeare, a Milton, a Cowper, or a Burns, if the very air which they imbibed from their countrymen, had not taught them to be reflecting men,-that they might so speak, that the heart should listen.

Never will Germany produce such poets as these, till she adds to her unquestioned power of reflection, the higher merit of thinking with correctness,-nor will France, till she learns first to think, and then to think aright.

It is however in the graver departments of literature that English writers stand pre-eminent, and here does the philosophical cast of the English mind fit them most highly to excel. In every form of discussion, whether of political, moral or general truth, English writers justly claim to themselves the mastery. No nation can boast of a body of philosophical writing so valuable,-none can display so many treatises and so various, of which principles are both base and superstructure, as the nation from which we are proud to derive our descent.

It is the glory of this one nation, and its grand peculiarity which it shares with none other, that the English stock, in the mother and the daughter land, have ever felt that principles were their life-their dignity-the essential condition of their true well-being. For principles have they thought, debated and written; for principles have they fought and bled and died. This high-souled reverence for principles, and this earnest desire to call them into actual existence and living efficacy, was early fixed in the English stock, and has ever been a marked constituent of the English character. Their history has called it into the most active exercise, and nurtured it to a manly growth,-or rather, they themselves have made their history to be but one sublime record of strenuous and determined efforts, to give to principles their

lawful influence. It has been secured to them by their institutions, or rather they themselves have persisted in animating their institutions, with the life-giving power of principles. From the time when Alfred instituted the trial by jury, have they been seen to secure to themselves the permanent blessing of one lofty truth after another, by enshrining it in the maxims or statutes of law, till at last the whole of their judicial and civil polity has come to be, not as with other nations, a material frame-work of dead power, but a living body, the habitation and the servant of a living soul.

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The British constitution has been denied to have a real existence, forsooth, because its letters cannot be traced by the pen, and its articles counted by the fingers. "The genius of the British constitution" has called forth many a sneer as an unreal and imaginary thing. But, when the cry has been rung through the land,- The constitution is in danger!"-arbitrary kings have been made to feel, and resisting lords to know, that the rights of Britons must be respected, or the earth would yawn to swallow up the throne, the palace and the baronial halls, of which it seemed to be the firm foundation.—And their unwritten common law,— what is that but the majestic voice of the English people, as it has called for equity and reason, in cases which could not be regulated by literal enactments, and in exigencies which could not be provided against by specific statutes? This voice often made itself heard in the ear of a Mansfield, and gave form and spirit to those maxiins, which make our own courts the sanctuaries of justice.

With this lofty homage to principles, has been connected a steadfast purpose to discuss them freely-and with a view to make them felt. Freedom to think, and freedom to make known its thoughts, has ever been asserted as the native right of the English mind. True, it has often been denied, and the arm of power has once and again essayed to forbid its exercise, but in vain. Not Elizabeth, with the splendor and majesty of her personal state, with the wisdom and resources of her unrivalled privy council, no ;-not with the added terrors of the star-chamber, could she prevent the discussion of herself and the matters of her government, and the manifestation of the purpose to make principles, one day, mightier