ing his mercy, and trampling on his blood-is concentered in his infidelity, in that false opinion as to the truth of the Bible, which he has so wilfully adopted, and which by necessity leads to, indeed involves, such a life. How great then is our responsibility, in forming our opinions and adopting our principles! How carefully should we attend to the truth, searching for it as for hid treasures! How free should be our minds from prejudice, and partiality, and obstinacy! Yet how common are these faults among men, especially with respect to divine truth. The intimate connexion between falsehood in principle and criminality in action, should lead all to beware how they tamper and trifle with the truth, especially religious truth.

But the most important lesson taught by this work, is that on which we have chiefly dwelt, and for which especially we commend it to public attention the bad moral tendency and results of Universalism. We think the volume fitted, on this account, to produce a salutary effect on those in the community, (and they are more numerous than is often thought,) who are more or less skeptical on the subject of eternal punishment. We wish it might be read attentively by them all. We ask them to look at the nature of the two systems, of the one which denies, and of the one which affirms, future retribution, and at their comparative bearing on human virtue and happiness; to consider, how the one lacks all adequate sanctions wherewith to enforce the duties of life, while the other brings the whole weight of two eternal worlds-a world of bliss and a world of woe -to press upon man during every hour and moment of his probation, to urge him on to holiness. We ask them to look at the actual results of the former system as they are described in this book, by one who has been an eye-witness of

them, and knows whereof he affirms, and then to say whether a system, which tends to produce, and does in fact produce, such fruits, can be from God, or can be true. We have occasionally met with men, and men of by no means inferior intellect, who declared their belief that the system which denies eternal retribution is true, and the system which affirms eternal retribution is false, who yet acknowl edged, that the latter is, and the former is not, "a good thing for the people." But is not this a palpable inconsistency? Does not the fact which they admit flatly contradict their belief? Is it so, that falsehood is better "for the people" than truth?

Has God so formed the mind, that moral corruption and degradation follow the belief of the truth, and moral soundness and elevation the belief of error? Must we believe a lie in order to be virtuous and happy? These men acknowledge that, in every thing except morals and religion, success is obtained by, and in proportion to, conformity to truth. They can show no good reason why, in the department of ethics and religion, truth should not be as beneficent, and error as injurious, as in the departments of natural science and human industry. They must be compelled to admit as honest men, that truth is universally the friend, and error universally the foe of man; and therefore, that that system of faith, which in the highest degree promotes human virtue and happiness, is true; while those which are unfriendly to human virtue and happiness, are false. We doubt not, that the reader of this work who thus judges, will conclude that the doctrine of eternal retribution is "from above," and its denial "from beneath;" and that there is no declaration more true and important, than that the wicked "shall go away into everlasting punishment, but the righteous into life eternal."

WHENCE is our literature to be formed? What are the elements which must enter into its composi tion?-and what shall be its charter? Cut off in a great measure from those associations which act with such power upon the European mind-passing yet through the infancy of our national existenceliving under an organization, that exhibits none of the pomp and show of the old monarchies-from what sources can we draw life and nourishment for an elegant national literature?

To the man of science, a new world like this opens a most inviting field. To him the ground is desirable, chiefly because it is new and unexplored. It is his to search for the traces of ancient organic life, to unlock the deep treasuries of the earth, to discover and arrange the plants, that have been growing here in solitude from age to age; in a word, to classify and systematize all things, which fall within the domain of science.

But for the poet, who lingers most fondly among the records of ancient men, the aspect of a new world is barren and forbidding. He seeks the materials for his delicate fabric, where man has left the traces of his works. Hence it is, that countries which bear upon their faces the impress of old wars, which are filled with broken and scattered relics, whence he may read the stories of strife, and suffering, and human sorrow-these are the regions that seem best suited to the purposes of the poet. Let it not be deemed idle, that we attempt to reason on a theme like this. The mind as well as matter, is subject

* Tecumseh, or the West thirty years since; a poem, by GEORGE H. COLTON. New York, Wiley & Putnam.

to law; and from our large experience of the past, we are enabled to determine the motives which influence it, and the course it will pursue. If we attend to the origin of the European literatures, and observe the manner in which they have grown up, we shall find that the mind is led almost unconsciously into this creative action, by the contemplation of the past. The states of Europe stretch far back in their history. They were formed by slow degrees into order and system, from elements originally chaotic. They have risen to their present greatness, through continual struggle, and turmoil, and confusion. They have passed through forms of organization, eminently fitted to awaken human energy, and stimulate to bold deeds. And when at length they began to emerge from these tumultuous scenes, and a milder spirit pervaded them-when men had time to sit down in silence and muse on life and its concerns, what so natural, as to turn the thoughts back, and survey the tumults that were passed? It is delightful, amid the stillness of after years, thus to contemplate the struggles that are ended-to hear in fancy the noise of battles which have long been closed. Moreover, in Europe, as in every old land, the memorials which meet us at every step, naturally lead the mind backward amid the stir of earlier times. The castoff armor of old generations, still hangs in her dwellings or rests beneath her soil. The peaceful husbandman strikes upon them with his instruments of labor. A thousand old and romantic traditions still linger about her ruined castles. Hence, from the first dawn of European literature, the mind has been employed in reproducing this ancient life, giving it a new ex

istence in the pages of poetry and

romance.

We see then how age fits a country for the contemplation of the poet. He delights in a land that has been long trodden by men, that has become renowned for valor and generosity, and is strewn with the ruins of old systems. It cannot be denied, that a national literature originates in this reverence and romantic love for that which has gone before us. Every one at all familiar with English literature, especially in its earlier stages, must have remarked how entirely it is concerned with things of a former age the storming of castles, the romantic love and adventures of some wandering knight, the fierce contentions of clan with clan, the supposed agencies of dragons and monsters and fiends; in short, every thing that belongs to chivalrous life. The institution of chivalry, with all its rich and romantic associations, forms the magnificent background for European literature. It stands in relation to the present, like those great mountainous realms of northern Asia, whence issue a thousand streams to water and fertilize the distant and sunny plains below.

With these introductory views, we are prepared to turn to our own land and inquire, what have we here? What materials has time consecrated and made ready to our hands? Many have surveyed the field and cried, "it is all barren." We are to take our position on the heights of the present, and overlook the past. We are to remember, that our view is not to be bounded by the narrow limits of two hundred years. We are to stretch back as far as we can follow the footsteps of men. Every thing that appertains to this western continent, has a dear and intense interest to us. Every trace of ancient life, every record which remote generations have left, every monument of an

cient civilization and power, every instrument of war or of peace, that lies buried beneath our soil-these are our property-these are our memorials. The ruins of old cities now sleeping in the silent forests of Central America, the venerable mounds scattered along our western rivers, covering the bones of departed nations, the remnants of temples and palaces, rising here and there through the wide regions of the south-in a word, every thing vast and shadowy, associated with the movements of men in these western climes-all these unite to form the background of American lite

rature.

No one can survey this field with a full appreciation of its extent, and not confess that it is grand and inspiring. Had our fathers found this land an uninhabited wilderness, had there been no stir or sound of life through all this wide domain, nor a trace of any former existence, it would still have been a field for poetry. The idea of poetry. The idea of a great land lying undisturbed for thousands of years, passing silently through vast organic changes of growth and decay-old forests growing up through the long lapse of years, falling down piecemeal, and mouldering again to earth-mighty rivers moving along from age to age, bearing upon their bosoms the spoils of the wilderness -all this would have moved upon an imaginative mind and given birth to a new order of poetry. But we are not left with this alone. As the artist when he paints a landscape always shows us a form, on some rising ground, gazing upon the beauty of the scene below, so here we have the additional interest of the spectator. The whole becomes associated in our minds, with the hopes and fears, the joys and sorrows of of our mortal life. The inquiry instinctively rises in the mind, what was transpiring here during all the commotions of the eastern world? What was agitating the human bo

som here, while battles were fought, and kingdoms were rising and fall ing in the East? It is useless to urge against all this, that the race which inhabited these lands were no part of ourselves, that they were a savage and cruel people, that they dwelt in miserable wigwams, and lived like the beasts of prey around them. It matters not that we were originally of another race. We have become associated with all who ever inhabited this western world. A man cannot find an arrow-head in his fields, but he must needs stop and think of it a little, and carry it home to his friends. It is a kind of standing tradition to him. It tells him a story of strange life, and of wild deeds, which he always delights to hear. If he chance in his peaceful occupation to strike upon some depository of the ancient dead, it acts upon his mind like some new and wonderful history. He can never leave talking of it. No mind is so stupid under such circumstances, as not to feel in some degree the poetry and romance of the past. There is no doubt, that these aboriginal tribes were savage and ferocious. But this matters not. Through the misty curtain that time hangs around the actors in this ancient drama, we discern only the fair and beautiful. It is by this happy operation of nature, that the past becomes so dear to us-that the mem. ories that come flocking to the mind from its silent depths, are as sweet as our anticipations of the future. Bad as the mind may be, it is a high argument for its native glory, that it thus instinctively separates the evil from the good, and stores up within itself only those beautiful memories, which are the patterns of a perfect state. Who can think of an Indian a thousand years ago, sitting by the banks of the Mississippi, or wandering through a moonlit forest, without a certain charm and sense of delight? But

it may be asked, how is all this to be turned to any account? Will any one dare to lay the foundation of a poem back amid these shadowy scenes ? Will any one be so bold as to break loose from all the influences of civilized life, and weave his plot of purely Indian elements? We see no reason why this may not be done. Men are always faithless in matters of this kind. They survey a field like this, but they have no eye to discern its beauty, or its uses. It appears desolate and waste. Suddenly, the magician strikes the soil. He raises before us forms of beauty and pow er, of which we had never dreamed

yet we discern in a moment that they belong there, that they are the natural occupants of the places, and that they have only been concealed from our view. The old comparison of the statuary suits our purpose. He discerns the form he is after, while the marble is yet in the quarry. He opens the earth, clears off the mass around, and there he finds the statue just as he saw it in his dream. The poet has this discerning eye. He sees forms which other men cannot see, till he has disclosed them. It is impossible to specify all the ways in which the past history of this country may furnish themes for poetry. It is sufficient, to speak in this general and abstract way of its resources. It is not necessary, that we our. selves should be the magicians that can raise these forms. From what we know of the growth of literature among the different nations of the world, by watching the phenomena of its progress, we are enabled to judge of the resources which a land presents for a polite literature.

There is much in the, character of the Indian, that is poetical. We find in him none of the effeminate softness of the Asiatic, or the vulgar savageness of the islanders of the Pacific. His character, it is true, is distorted; but much that is noble

is still impressed upon it. He nourishes with sleepless care, some of the better elements of human nature. His mind is ennobled and enlarged by the contemplation of the Great Spirit, and by the expectation of that more perfect state, into which he is to be ushered after death. His heart is susceptible to love, and pity, and gratitude. In short, we cannot form an abstract conception, which shall represent the great peculiarities of the Indian character, without feeling that we are in the presence of a lofty and commanding personage.

We behold them moreover a fading race, year by year shrinking back farther into the hiding-places of the wilderness, as the star of civ ilization travels towards the west. We have far more reason to love them, than they us. When we leave out of view the more savage features of their character, and dwell only upon the pure and lovely-when we reflect upon the workings of that lofty faith, which is ever present in the hearts of these children of the forest-we can feel that we have far more sympathy with their inner life, than we may have supposed.

The Indian character too is shadowy and obscure. We have to wait a long time, before those heroes that figure in the open world, and whose acts are recorded in books, become sufficiently romantic for the uses of the poet. But the forest itself throws a sufficient veil around the Indian character, making it suitable for the poet, without the aid of time. Two hundred years will not suffice to throw such a curtain around the heroes of the Revolution, as the shades of the wilderness are ever spreading over its inhabitants. The point in the history of our country, which at present seems most fit for the poet, is that transition state, when the European and the Indian are brought side by side, each revealing the character of the other, in new and stronger proportions. This was a time too of doubt and danger and

suspense-a time of fierce strife and bold adventure. Both parties are obscured in a measure, by the shadows of a wilderness life. As time moves on, the acts of our regular history will become interesting and romantic themes, though at present they are too gross and material.

When however a nation has ar rived at a certain point in its upward progress, and a pure and elevated tone of thought begins to prevail, a change gradually comes over its literature, which at length becomes most manifest. The mind no longer busies itself with the contempla. tion of mere physical facts and historical phenomena. It seeks to hold converse with the deeper mysteries of our nature; it explores the inner chambers of the soul, where thought resides. Let not this be deemed visionary, or without some meaning in its application to ourselves. Though our nation is young in years, we are old in this maturity of mind, and advancement of thought. In this matter we stand side by side with England, and for confirmation of what we have said above, we may refer to the work that is now going on there. What is the poetry of Wordsworth and his contemporaries, but an exemplification of this clear and intellectual spirit? It is the poetry of a contemplative age, framed for men who have turned aside from the hot pursuits of war and vain ambition.

It is almost unnecessary to point out the bearing of this argument up. on ourselves. As the literature of England has already passed in a measure from the contemplation of mere historical phenomena, to those more elevated themes which concern man, not as a member of a particular nation, but as a thinking, reasoning being, formed for happiness and immortality; so we, possessing the same elevated feelings, have less need of those materials on which the poets of an earlier age have labored. In short, we are