structed for themselves out of the materials of earthly enjoyment, and hence our internal evidence of the belief, that the true heaven promised to the faithful, will comprehend all that we pine for of happiness, all that we admire of beauty, and more than all that we can conceive of excellence. This intense perception of beauty-this tribute of the heart to excellence-this admiration of physical and thence of moral good, which dignifies the mind with the noblest aims, is so nearly allied to poetic feeling, that we question whether one could exist without the other; and if the diminution of poetic fervour be symptomatic of a decreased capacity of admiration, we have to look, not only to the depreciated character of our literature, but of our taste, and our morals. Nor is this view of the subject too widely extended to be supported by reason, since the first step to improvement is to admire what is better-the nearest approach to perfection, to admire all things worthy, in their true proportion—and to admire that most which is supremely good. Is it then a thing of small importance that we should cease to admire? that we should lose, not only the most brilliant portion of our literature, but the happiest moments of our existence? We have observed what a void would be left in the natural world by the extinction of poetic feeling, we have now to consider what a void would be left in the world of letters by the absence of poetry as an art. We must not only seal up the fountain from whence flows the melody that has softened down the asperities of our own passions; but turning to the page of history, and tracing back the connexion of civilization with poetry, we must strike out from the world the influence of the mighty genius of Homer, in refining the manners of a barbarous people, in transmitting to posterity a faithful record of their national and social character, and in kindling in other minds the sparks of embryo genius, from that ancient period down to the present time. And if the influence of this single poet be insufficient to establish the general importance of poetry, we have that of other poets, inferior perhaps in their individual power, but deriving importance from their number, and the greater facility with | which their influence has been diffused. It may be answered, that we have still the works of these poets to refer to for amusement and instruction. And are we to rest in this low and languid satisfaction, which extends to nothing but our poetry? We have the same conveniences of life which belonged to our forefathers; are we satisfied with them? The same use of machinery; are we satisfied with that? We have the same knowledge of the surface of the globe-we can count the same number of stars-and class the same kinds of animals and plants; and are we satisfied? We have the same knowledge of chemistry, electricity, hydrostatics, optics, and gravitation; and yet we are not satisfied. No:the principle of improvement-the desire of progress, extends through every manual occupation, through every branch of science, and through every variety of art, and leaves the region of poetry a void, for future ages to wonder at, and despise. It is our ambition to impress upon the page of history the advance that has been made in every other field of intellectual operation; but we are satisfied that history should record a time when the genius of the English nation cast off the wreath of poesy, and trampled her brightest glories in the dust-when the harp of these once melodious isles was silentand when the march of Britain's mind was unaccompanied by the music of her affections. Next in importance to the impressions derived immediately from nature, are those derived from books, which if less obvious to the senses, and consequently less distinct, instruct the mind with greater facility and precision; and we behold another cause of the absence of deep impressions, in the excessive reading which characterises the present times. It is not certainly the most gracious mode of pointing out the evil, for those who multiply books to complain of their being read; but by excessive reading we desire to be understood to refer to that voracious appetite for books which exceeds the power of digestion. Time was when a well-written book had an identity in the hearts of its readers-a place in memory, and almost in affectionits choice passages referred to for illustration on every momentous occasion, and its pointed aphorisms quoted as indisputable | evidence of truth. Through the sentiments of the author, we became acquainted with his personal character, and took him with us into solitude as a companion who would never weary; and into society as the supporter of our arguments, and the prompter of our most brilliant thoughts. visions of celestial and infernal beings were arrayed in the glory of his own genius, or shadowed out by the mighty power of his majestic mind. It is not thus in the present day. Books are now spoken of as certain quantities of printed paper; and authors, a class of men too numerous to be distinguished, mix with the multitude, creating less emotion by their bodily presence, than the bare idea of an author created formerly. This general diffusion of knowledge-this removal of the barriers by which literature has hitherto been restricted to an enlightened few, is unquestionably a national, and public good; but it calls for a greater effort of intellectual power to render the influence of mind as potent as it is extensive. Unless this effort is be, to generalize the principle of intelligence so as to neutralize the two extremes, which have separated the highly-gifted from the wholly-unenlightened; and while the lower class of minds are better taught, and better cultivated, the average of talent will be the same, because we shall want the light of those brilliant geniuses that rose like suns amid a world of stars. Such were the times when Goldsmith, Addison, and Johnson, accompanied us in the circle of daily communion with our fellow creatures, and we looked around us, and discovered the same principles of thought and action which their minds had suggested, operating through all the links of human fellowship, through all the changes of world-made, the effect of the present system will ly vicissitude, and through all the varieties of station and circumstance in which manthe same being, is to be found. Such were the times, when by every mountain side, or "wimpling burn," we found the versatile spirit of Burns, animated by the fresh invigorating breeze of morning; or, leaning in musing attitude over the arch of the rustic bridge, and listening to the melodious flow of the rippling stream as it worked its way through rocks and reeds, scorning to linger in its woodland course, even beneath the fascination of a poet's gaze-we saw his keen eye mark the flight of the "whirring partridge," and then look wistfully upon its fall, as if he rued the deed; orhe has turned upon us with the lively sallies of his playful wit, half pathos, half satire, but ever the genuine language of a noble heart, and a poetic soul. Such were the times, when we shaped out our own ideas, and traced them to their origin, according to the principles of Locke, whose very soul was mingled with the atmosphere of our private studies, watching over the eccentric flights of imagination, and calling back the mind to its proper exercise upon sensible or definite things. Such were the times, when every flower, and every tree, was associated with the fairer flowers and loftier trees of Milton's Paradise; when our conceptions of peace, and purity, and happiness, were immediately derived from his descriptions of the short-lived innocence of our first parents; and when our It is necessary, therefore, not that we should read fewer books, but that we should read them more studiously; and as knowledge is advancing with rapid strides, that we should endeavor to keep pace with it, by a more definite application of solid thought to the subjects laid before us in such number and variety. It is the mode of reading, not the number of books read, that forms the sum of the evil here alluded to; and we appeal to any one conversant with the society of the present day, whether it is not wearisome to the ear, to listen to the catalogue of names of books, and names of authors, which form the substance of general conversation, (except where politics take precedence of literature, and the names of public men are substituted for the nature of public measures,) instead of the facts those books record, the arguments they maintain, the truth they establish, or the genius which adorns their pages; and still less do we hear of the manner in which they develope the nature and principles of the mind of the writer. When we behold the piles of heteroge a level with the author, leaving behind it, when the book is closed, a freshness, a vigour, and a capacity of production, like that which follows the retiring waters of a rich and fertilizing stream. When the best mode of remedying an evil is beyond our reach, we naturally and wisely adopt the next best. Thus, instead of allowing our ideas to be diluted, diffused, and rendered indefinite by this overwhelming tide of literature, if we cannot gain more time for reading, nor quicken our understandings by a fresh impetus, we should do well to read some books attentively, thoughtfully, and feelingly: and what if we do go into society wholly ignorant even of the names of others, we may perform the useful part of listeners, and shall no more sacrifice our claim to intellectual merit by such ignorance, than we shall forfeit our title to the admiration awarded to personal embellishment, by not wearing a specimen of every gem. neous literature, which not only fill the libraries of the learned, but load the tables of the man of business-not books which have descended from his forefathers, and will remain an heir-loom in his family for ages yet to come, to be read some twenty years hence when he shall have retired to the quiet of the suburbs, and the comfort of a gouty chair; but books beyond count, voluminous and large, poured in as the circulating medium of a literary society, to be read in five days, and then forwarded under the penalty of a fine, to the next happy member of the club; when we know too that the gentleman comes home from his office at six in the evening, and returns to it at nine the next day, his intervals of leisure including the necessary occupations of dining and sleeping; and when we know that his wife (a reader also) has seven children, a sick governess, and two idle servants, and that half her days are spent in imparting or receiving the felicity of morning calls; when we add to this the subscription of the same individuals to three or four libraries Every stage of civilization, as well as for the benefit of their children, as well as every condition of civilized society, is marked of themselves, and the necessity of glancing by some strong characteristics which indithrough all the books that fall into the hands cate the prevailing and national tone of of their boys and girls; bu' above all, when manners and morals, as well as what are we turn over the pile of books, look at their the chief objects of intellectual pursuit. By titles, and see-A treatise on the character- conversation we obtain the most immediate, istics of mind-A key to paper currency and by literature the most profound knowThe lives of all the heroes-General obser- ledge of what these characteristics are, and vations on the visible creation-System of what they denote. We should say in fabanking detailed-Antediluvian remains-miliar language, that utility was the order Interior of the earth explained-London, of the present day; and such unquestionaand its inhabitants--Refutation of the Mahomedan creed-The world at one viewwith voyages, and travels to every section of the earth's surface;-when we consider all this, we can only wonder at the prodigious compass of the minds of those who imagine it possible for them to read, mark, and properly digest the contents of these books within the stated period allowed for their perusal; and still more we wonder at hearing it fearlessly asserted that they have been read. It is not necessary to ask, what definite impressions we receive from this style of reading, which is indeed a mockery of that vital participation in the elements of another, and a more enlightened mind, whose influence is to raise that of the reader almost to bly should be the aim of every well directed mind; but there is a physical, and moral utility connected with the two distinctions of our nature, and it is a subject of no small importance to inquire, which of these distinct portions of our being is most productive of happiness, and consequently most worthy of cultivation. The The utility to which we now generally appeal in computing the value of our own endeavours, or those of the rest of mankind, is chiefly confined to physical advantages, and operates by material agency. utility which ought to be the ultimate aim of every enlightened being, comprehends all that ennobles and exalts the mind. In the facilities now invented for the acquisition of knowledge of every kind; in the increased cultivation and dissemination of letters; in the assistance afforded to individual research, by public institutions and societies of every description for the concentration and diffusion of talent, we see the means by which the nature and condition of man is to be improved; but if we limit our views to these means, and rest satisfied with the occupation, and activity necessarily accompanying the attainment of knowledge, we shall never behold the desirable end-the attainment of wisdom-which we understand to mean, the application of knowledge so as to produce the greatest sum of moral good. That knowledge is not happiness, we are taught by the experience of our own hearts, by the observation of every day, and by the undying record of the king of Israel, who knew and felt, perhaps more deeply than any other man, the harassing and destructive conflict of high intellectual powers at war with ungoverned passions, and an illregulated will. The cultivation of the intellectual faculties can only lead us to a knowledge of the nature of things generally. It cannot inspire us with an ardent desire to appropriate some, and to avoid others. Unless as some philosophers maintain, we only need to know what is best, and our preference for it will follow, as a necessary consequence. It may be a weak, and certainly it is a womanly mode of reasoning, to argue that we must be taught, not only to know, but to love what is best, because desire arises entirely out of a moral, as knowledge arises out of an intellectual process. It arises in fact out of our early impressions of pleasure and pain, and is so distinct from a knowledge of the quality of the thing desired, as not unfrequently to be at variance with our judgment, and to lead us in pursuit of what we know to be unproductive of ultimate good. Hence arise all the wilful errors committed by mankind, errors so evident and so numerous, that we can only envy the philosopher who looked upon the conduct of his fellow creatures, and upon his own heart, yet saw and felt no desire except for what he believed to be morally excellent. We are told that the errors which are committed arise from mistaken views of the nature of good and evil, and that these views are acted upon, because the good we perceive is present and obvious, while that with which it ought to be compared is remote. But when a man whose sole subsistence depends upon the produce of his garden, preferring ease and indolence to activity and labour, suffers that garden to run to waste, it is not because he is ignorant of the consequences that must ensue, but because he has learned to love the gratification of corporeal inclination more than any other thing, and therefore he determines to obtain it at any risk. The fact is, that in such cases, our mental calculations are generally more numerous, and more correct, than we are willing to acknowledge to the world, and while we act from the immediate impulse of desire, we disown all conviction that we could have acted better, in order to lessen our culpability in the eyes of others. The first stirrings of desire arise out of sensation, long before we are capable of estimating good and evil. We feel the impressions of pleasure and pain, consequently we desire to repeat the one, and to avoid the other; and as we are long in understanding the pleasure remotely derived from virtue, so it is long before we see the necessity of cultivating our moral nature in such a manner as to enable us willingly to sacrifice the lesser good for the greater, and to love most what is intrinsically best. In the mean time the mind is gaining new impressions of a less and less corporeal nature, and as they are invariably accompanied with some degree of pleasure or pain, the desire naturally belonging to the sensation of pleasure gains additional strength, and fresh impulse, until it gradually assumes the warmth and vitality of affection, which prompts us to seek certain things in preference to others, perhaps more worthy of our regard, and sometimes to obtain them at any cost, and at the risk of any consequence. As it is of infinitely more importance what we are, than what we know; and as our moral conduct is more influenced by what we love, than by what we understand, because we naturally pursue that which we love best, rather than that which we know to be so; so in order that our desires, and consequently our affections, may be properly directed, it is necessary that all our impressions connected with the nature of good and evil should be distinct and durable, and founded upon truth: and the science which leads to the proper selection and arrangement of early impressions-the origin of desire the direction of the affections, and consequently the formation of the moral eharacter, is that which we would earnestly recommend to the attention of the busy public, as conducive to the highest and most lasting utility. Cæsar's character-his ambition. But who in that motley crowd regarded Cæsar's ambition, unless it touched himself? The soul of Brutus was capable of apprehending in the ambition of one man, an enemy to the many-a destroyer of the rights and the liberties of the Roman people; but it was an evil too remote for the multitude to be impressed with, and though they offered a prompt, and at the moment a sincere acknowledgement, that what Brutus had said was just and true, we see how soon they could turn, and listen, and grow furious, under the influence of that master-piece of eloquence, by which Mark Antony gradually led their attention away from Cæsar's am It is with this view of the subject of utility, that the writer of these pages has dwelt so long upon the nature and importance of poetry, and laboured (it may be fruitlessly to others, but certainly not without enjoy-bition, and the remote idea they might have ment to herself,) to enforce the desirableness of cultivating poetry as an art, aud of cherishing poetic feeling as a source of intellectual enjoyment. Upon the principle of our desires arising out of our impressions of pleasure and pain, there is an importance--a wisdom in poetry, beyond what a superficial observation would lead us to suppose. It is because poetry addresses itself immediately to our feelings, and appeals to the evidence of our individual impressions to attest its truth, that it becomes a powerful engine of instruction, enforcing while it inculcates, and stimulating while it teaches. If while we learn an important truth, we have the testimony of our feelings to confirm it, how much stronger is the impression? The orator whose object is to rouse the public mind to indignation and violence, and active force against a tyrant, or a usurper, does not merely argue upon the natural rights of man, and the principles of law and justice; but he calls the attention of the people to their ruined homes, to their desolate hearths, and draws pictures of the hunger, and want, and squalid misery with which they are too feelingly acquainted. We have a striking instance of the difference between addressing the judgment, and addressing the feelings, in the two orations on the death of Julius Cæsar, delivered by Brutus and Mark Antony. Brutus, whose noble mind disdains all artifice, appeals at once to the "wisdom" of the people, and justifies the fatal deed he has just committed, by dwelling upon one single stain in formed of its consequences, to the bloody Have stood against the world; now lies he there, Lest the people should not be sufficiently excited by this spectacle-by what they could all immediately understand-the direct infliction of cruelty, the artful orator makes another appeal to their feelings, which immediately strikes home. He tells them of Cæsar's will, from which they were individually and personally to derive benefit, and then the fire he had so studiously endeavoured to kindle burst forth, and weeping for Cæsar as for a public benefactor-a patriot-a god, they direct the fury of their indignation against the conspirators, and threaten the direst vengeance upon the head of Brutus. This appeal is in strict accordance with the spirit of poetry, which convinces not so much by the evidence of what we know, as what we feel. It required time for the Romans to reflect upon the nature of ambition, and even then they could not bring home its remote consequences to the conviction of their bosoms; but they were instantaneously impressed with horror on beholding the lacerated body of Cæsar, they all felt that the friends in whom he had trusted should have been the very last to do the bloody deed, and they felt also that the man, who |