giant force by them, common events touch not its governing nerve; but if it be heaven, 'heaven born,' it will, in its own unhurried and sure time, make itself manifest and stand."

And here, perhaps, we may not inaptly quote the words of the unfortunate Dr. Dodd, whose accomplished mind led him to make a selection from the works of our great dramatic bard :—ʻ "Those narrow minds which are incapable of elevating their ideas to the sublimity of their authors, are willing to bring them down to a level with their own. Hence many fine passages have been condemned in Shakspeare, as rant, and fustian, intolerable bombast, and turgid nonsense, which, if read with the least glow of the same imagination that warmed the writer's bosom, would blaze in the robes of sublimity, and obtain the commendations of a Longinus. And unless some of the same spirit that elevated the poet, elevate the reader too, he must not presume to talk of taste and elegance; he will prove a languid reader, an indifferent judge, and a far more indifferent critic and commentator."

But, before we conclude, we must permit our author to deliver his own sentiments on the subject: *

"Amid the lamentations over departed taste which from time to time are raised in some of our periodicals, that one is more than usually eloquent which

* Vide Preface to "The Omnipresence of the Deity." 13th edit.

alludes to a decline of the poetical genius among us. But, trace these critical elegies to their source, and they will generally be found to emanate from the sour, the fameless, or the disappointed; whose thermometer for measuring public taste rises or falls, according to the success of their own productions. Such writers are the veritable laudatores temporis acti.' There is nothing original, however, in their cast or character. Refer to the reviews of the last fifty years, and the same groaning admiration of the past will be heard. But some philosophical critics have occupied a more cheerful and commanding ground; and observed, that no period in the poetical history of England has been brighter than that in which we live, and that a taste for imaginative luxuries has seldom surpassed that which characterizes the present day. For with much that is frothy, superficial, and vain,-how much that is noble, pure, and exalting, has the literature of the 19th century produced !—And though many, alas! of the chief stars which adorned our intellectual firmament, have lately withdrawn their beams,— during the pause which exists between their set and the rise of others, we have ample for admiration to gaze on, in the glory which they have left behind.

"A love for the ideal is enthroned in every reflective heart; and though there may be periods, when a taste for the beautiful and the unseen appears to

slumber or be palled,-this earthly dimness which overclouds the bright instincts of the soul, soon passes away. All that concentrates itself round the thought of man's eternity, may be referred, more or less, to a passion for the ideal; and religion, while eminently practical in its lofty influence, is ever attracting our spirit to contemplate that paradise which blooms in the regions of hereafter. What is there noble in the records of mind, to which the ideal is entirely unrelated?-The crown which the eyes of the martyr miniatured as he closed them in flames; the divine imitation which Meekness and Righteousness picture before them in the war of life; the grand discoveries which the prophetic dreams of Science anticipate when she contemplates the worlds of air, or fastens her gaze on the wonders of earth; and, finally, that faultless model which Genius ever images, in her toils and pains,-all these, in a great degree, arise from that dominion which the ideal exercises over mankind. To assert, therefore, that this no longer exists, libels the character of the human soul.

"Now it is the privilege of poetry to adumbrate in language that glory, loveliness, andsublimity, which the creative eye of imagination beholds. The living and the actual are neither perverted nor forgotten; and while the truth and sternness, the passions, principles, and working day realities of life are

described with severe fidelity, the yearnings of the soul for perfection, and its deep sense of the infinite and the immortal-may be interpreted and described. The ideal and the actual thus move hand in hand along the page of poesy, each lending the other its native influence; as light and shadow over a landscape contribute a divided charm, and blend with the beauty of the whole.

"To the minds of those who think the art of converting pence into pounds the noblest object of human pursuit,-observations on the benign influence of poetry will sound like the mere prattle of puerile enthusiasm. And yet, though it may harmonize with the doctrines of an utilitarian to decry poetry, and to shed the mildew of his irony over every work which attempts to reveal it, he is as tasteless as he is unphilosophical; and, while professing to triumph over the dreams of sentimentalism proves himself to be the wildest of all visionaries: for is he not so, who thinks and writes as though "profit and loss" were the be-all and end-all of man's existence; and considers him only as a creature for time, while the instincts of eternity already throb in his bosom? Now, next to the renovating power of religion, true poetry confronts this worldly epicureanism with a sacred defiance; and viewing man in his two-fold responsibility, for time and for eternity,

appeals to him with a voice that is echoed from the depths of his intellectual being.

"The desire of fame is laudable under certain moral limitations; but our motives of action should ascend to a far higher source.-And, would that a deeper view of what forms the true greatness and glory of the mind, more thoroughly pervaded our literature! How much that is low would then be exalted, how much that is servile made free; and, where now envy and malice strut their miserable hour, how soon would magnanimity and genius, hand in hand, complete their bright career! But in the war of emulation the noble aims of mental exertion soon evaporate; the noise and not the power of reputation alone is prized; and under a mania for literary prominence on the public stage, ambition darkens into envy, and disappointment is soured into rivalrous contempt.

"Yet may the eye of the contemplatist repose on a more attractive scene; and behold in the varied ranks of learning, science, and taste, men who stand apart from the arrogant littleness around them,-silently building their monument of fame ; and from time to time sending forth streams of thought that refresh and invigorate the world of truth. And yet to those who estimate fame by the talk of the tongue rather than by the homage of the