The philosopher calmly and deliberately investigates the nature and effects of the passions, by tracing their history and influence on the character of individuals, and on society, giving the result of his observations in general terms. The feelings and sentiments are taken up by the judgment, commented upon, and certain conclusions drawn, from which general laws are resolved. The poet, on the contrary, imagines an individual with certain qualities and passions, whose effects and tendency he would exhibit. He places him in a situation fitted to call them forth. He puts such words upon his tongue as become him to speak, and makes him utter such sentiments, and show such passions as are consistent with his character, and such as any given occasion ought to call forth. By an effort of the imagination he throws around this personage the drapery of fancy, and with a fascinating hand he depicts to the mind's eye the same great truths as the philosopher, but in a more lively and animated way, even by words, thoughts, and actions.

Though we feel that poetry is a deep and sober reality, we are not inclined to venture an attempt to define it. It is far beyond the power of expression to bring out fully the idea, which the term signifies to one whose sensibilities are not wholly dead to its spirit-kindling impressions. It is loosely called the language of passion; but every one must feel how poor, barren, and inadequate is this description of a power that has all the varied effects of delighting the sense of beauty, of moving the sympathies, of arousing the feelings, and of kindling the whole man into highwrought emotion.

That was poetry by which Homer moved and thrilled the barbarian's heart, by which he stirred the passions and drew the tears of men who were swayed more by imagination than reason, men, who would have listened with cool and stupid indifference to the prose efforts of a calm philosophy. Homer by a sort of intuitive sense of propriety, addressed himself to the strongest propensities of the age; and under the direction and impulses of poetic inspiration, sings of war, recounts the deeds of heroes in battle. His figures are so bold and striking, and yet so simple; his descriptions so picturesque, his appeals so forcible, and his patriotism so exalted, it is not wonderful that his rustic auditors should catch a portion of his own inspiration, and kindle with the flame of martial ardor, breathe with him the noble sentiments of courage and magnanimity, melt in pity, or nerve with indignation, under the divine power of his exquisite touches.

It would be an interesting and grateful task to trace the progress of English poetry from its early history up to modern times. Observing its feeble manifestations during the middle ages, while almost all other forms of literature, as well as philosophy, were immured and bewildered, if not lost and extinct, until we see it

start into new life, as the gray dawn of civilization began to dissipate the mists of feudal barbarism and gothic ignorance, and share in the universal activity consequent upon the revival of letters. Our interest would undoubtedly increase, as we left the early and somewhat rude specimens of Chaucer and his cotemporaries, and followed the course of its progress through the intervening period, until our curiosity is made to pause in admiration before the immortal productions of Milton and Shakspeare. But our limits would forbid us to attempt the humblest sketch of a field so broad, even were we in any way competent to the work. It will be our design, therefore, to restrict the following thoughts to classic poetry in connection with the two great names just mentioned.

In order that a work may be considered strictly classical, it must hold a high rank by the general assent of mankind. It must have merits such as will not only recommend it to the perusal of cotemporary readers, but to posterity, in a word, it must contain the living germ of immortality. The age in which a work is written is not to decide for its character. For how often does it happen that a production which is received with the unqualified praise of cotemporaries, is almost wholly neglected by those who immediately follow them. The next generation view it through a medium less illusive and distorted. The occasion which brought it forth, and the purpose it was intended to serve, are alike unknown to them, or if known, have no power to bias their decision. Posterity weighs its merits with delibrate impartiality. If it has no claim to the interest and attention of a succeeding age, its mission is accomplished, and now, after its short existence and transient distinction, must fall into neglect and forgetfulness. But on the contrary, if the work be found to possess real intrinsic merits, which are independent of circumstance, if it survive the ordeals of criticism to which an enlightened posterity will subject it, if the judgment of sober, educated men, who are not affected by the dazzle of surprise, or the buzz of ignorant applause, confirm the general impression, the author's production will probably live to be read by coming generations. Why are Homer, Milton, and Shakspeare admired even at this distant day, by all who make any pretensions to learning, taste, and refinement? it is because the conservative principles are inwrought through the whole texture of their works; and their excellencies such as are adapted to reach and affect the universal heart. Milton owes his celebrity, for the most part, to his great epic. Though his labors in other branches of literature would have immortalized any other man, this is the work, that will carry his name down into future time. It was the conception of his lofty theme, one which required all the stores of his vast and matured mind, all the fire of his ardent enthusiasm, all the daring of his intrepid genius, and all the re

sources of his bold and excursive fancy, to sustain it, that formed the basis of his durable fame. After the foundation of his great work was laid, the outlines sketched, and the plan completed, much was to depend upon the execution.

We must, however, leave for him, to say how well Milton sustained the majesty of his theme, whose heart has been touched by his divine pathos, whose fancy has been refreshed by his striking and tasteful imagery, whose mind has been enlightened by his acute reflections and profound views, whose piety has been warmed by his religious devotion, and whose craving for greatness and sublimity has been fixed and filled by the wide scenes of the universe he throws open to the view.

The dramatic writings of Shakspeare are, perhaps, not less deservedly celebrated than that of the author to whom we have just alluded. It may be true, that all his productions are not equally worthy of that high commendation which has been universally bestowed upon a part. Some of his plays may already have grown obsolete, while others are to live as long as the English tongue is the vehicle of thought. Doubtless, the critic may see, or think he sees, in some of the parts of this author great blemishes; but the candid, who are competent to judge, must concede that his excellencies infinitely outweigh his faults. The general popularity of his writings is strikingly evinced by the frequency with which he is quoted. Perhaps the beauties of no English author are so constantly met with, in every variety and class of composition, as those of Shakspeare, or whose excellencies are so fully incorporated into the great body of our literature in the form of apt quotations. His drama is literally the great store-house of wise and witty sayings, from which moderns feel at liberty to draw. We find every where scattered over his pages great truths compressed into brevity of language, lofty sentiments clothed in the purest saxon, and brilliant images set off by the witchcraft of diction.

Shakspeare is emphatically called the great anatomist of the human passions, and his claim to this title is undisputed. No man could portray the darker passions in deeper colors, or the nobler sentiments in pencillings more radient and attractive. No one could get such hold on the feelings, and drag the heart to and fro with such magic power. He sweeps its chords with a master's hand, and they vibrate submissively to his touch.

His descriptions are eminently picteresque, and seem to have all the freshness and vivacity of original observation. His mind possessed a nice and quick perception, a delicate sensibility to the slightest indications of truth everywhere to be met with; and every impression was reflected with such wonderful exactness, that we see in his drama the living, and breathing world act before us, in all the animation and incident of real life. The unity of interest is so well preserved, the course of events so natural,

the moral of his plays so fully and happily brought out, that his works may become a living source of moral instruction. We have thus hinted at some of the excellencies, which entitle these two great English poets to the distinguished eminence they now occupy. Excellences that will command admiration, as long as there exists in the human breast its native sense of beauty, and its latent sympathy with all that is appropriate, touching, grand and lovely. The names of Shakspeare and Milton reflect the highest glory upon the country of their birth. Their fame is a part of England's noblest inheritance, and forms the just cause of her pride and boast.

Their works bear not the impress of common minds, they are not the puny and perishing efforts of ordinary men, but the durable monuments of strong and gifted intellect.

He who writes, not for his own time merely, but for extensive and lasting renown, must labor from the impulses of deep, original genius. It is a work reserved for the far-sighted, those who may send keen and searching glances into the future, and who can anticipate, in some degree, the wants, as well as the judgment, of posterity. R....

HOME.

HOME! oh, home! how I long to be home,

When the clear, bright days of the spring time come;

When nature, wrapped in a robe of light,

Wears a smile on her face, as pure and bright

As the angel-guide, when he ushers in

To heaven, a soul redeemed from sin.

Home! oh, home! how I long to be home,
O'er the fair green fields of spring to roam;
The first sweet breath of the flowers to seize,
As they toss their heads in the morning breeze,
And their fragrance send, toward the rising sun,
As their incense gift to the Glorious One ;

The first, sweet song of the birds to hear,
As they welcome back the beautiful year,
And the groves and fields with their melody fill,
Which gushes forth, like a murmuring rill,
Proclaiming that spring with her joyous train,
Has come to the lonely earth again.

In many a place have I seen and heard
The spring's first flower, and sweet-toned bird;
But they come to the heart with a fresher flow,
With a kindlier thrill, and a warmer glow,
When seen and heard at the home we love;
When amid the scenes of our youth we rove.

E. Y. T.

300

FISHER AMES.

No portion of American history, will be read with deeper interest in after ages than that which records the progress of the human mind towards independence-its struggles to rend asunder the shackles which have fettered its freedom; and not the least interesting part of that history, is the influence which individuals have exerted, in its consummation.

The past, to every American, is full of admonitory lessons; lessons, which we are not at liberty to disregard. And in proportion as our early history becomes well understood, and its influence on the general welfare of mankind is made known and appreciated, the virtues which that age reflected, must become more and more dear to memory. To us, who are now gathering the fruits of their labors who toiled not for themselves, the recollections of those toils, cannot fail to awaken the liveliest emotions of gratitude; and it should be no less an incitement to confirm and justify their hopes, than our own wishes for the future and permanent happiness of our race.

While we must acknowledge to a former age, a sincerity of zeal and singleness of patriotism, perhaps unsurpassed, we think it unnecessary, because it is unjust, to decry what is so often called the degeneracy of the present. If we see, even in the best men, an infusion of selfish motives, we can also discover, disinterested efforts to make the condition of our country, what it should be from the great promise of its beginning. In the infancy of our freedom, with all its facilities for attaining to distinguished honors, only men of eminent talents could rise to eminent stations, and men of integrity and principles alone, could embalm their names in honorable remembrance. To be numbered among that constellation of heroes who acted so distinguished a part in our early struggles is honor enough. To shine conspicuous there, is a glory permitted to but few of mortals. It was the good fortune of Mr. Ames to share that glorya glory which will brighten and brighten to "the last syllable of recorded time."

We do not speak of Mr. Ames to praise the severity of federalism, or to decry the laxity of democracy; but to contemplate his character as a man-the maturity of his wisdom, the perfection of his virtues, the brightness of his example.

The early period of our constitutional history is full of examples of patriotism, as ardent, of devotion to country as true and loyal, as any recorded in the annals of freedom;-of men who had no interest separate from the happiness of their country