POETRY.

pioneers in the inculcation of a pure and delicate taste, and who have embalmed in their strains some of the purest and holiest feelings of our nature, yet the plains of Tuscany and the hills of Provence will ever possess a secret and undefinable charm; and the strains of their gifted sons will ever link them to our memories as the homes of the troubadours.

We come now to speak of the poetry of our own times, and of the influence of this "language of the soul" on the manners of the age in which we live. So true is it that the character of a people is molded by its national poetry, that one who was conversant with the subject has said, "Let me write the ballads of a nation, and I care not who makes its laws." Indeed, so great and powerful is its influence, that, like the lyre of Orpheus, it may be said to have moved the rocks, and to have made the forest trees toss their giant branches aloft in perfect unison with its sweet and persuasive harmony. Who is there that can look back to the hours of childhood, the spring-time of life, with all its joyousness and innocency, without remembering the song which first hushed him to his peaceful slumber, and imprinted sentiments on the expanding mind which will never be forgotten.

5

the pages of Campbell, Pollok, and Rogers-let the cold finger of oblivion erase from our hearts every impression we have received from them and their compeers, and if we do not find that the light of the soul is, in a measure, dimmed-our concep tions of the bright and beautiful darkened, it will be because memory has left her post, and recollection has resigned her once pleasing task.

But it is not to those monarchs in the realms of song alone that I would accord the praise of all that high and holy feeling which has been excited by the poetry of our own age; for though, like the sun, they irradiate all the subjects of their songs, and array them in the most gorgeous habiliments, yet there are others whose light, like that of the chaste moon, or the dimly twinkling stars with pale silvery rays, while they sadden the heart, soften and prepare it for the purest impressions, Such, in a word, are the poems of Hemans, Norton, and Sigourney. It is true they do not dazzle us by the splendor of their imagery, or astonish us by the loftiness of their flight; but they speak to the heart in tones which cannot be resisted, and when once heard the remembrance can never depart. Who is there that can listen to the pensive breathings of Landon— to the deep, fervent, impassionate strain of Hemans, or the pure lessons of a Sigourney, without, in some measure at least, partaking of the spirit by which they were animated? Or who has read the lines, "Leaves have their time to fall," or "Bring music," without feeling as if under the guidance of a purer spirit, and having the heart made better? This may truly be called the greatest achievement of the poetry of our day. Instead of overwhelming the mind like the master productions of those who have been most nobly gifted by genius, it falls softly and silently on the heart like the dew of even, or the gentle breath of morn, disseminating far and wide through every grade of

But, to come more directly to the point now under consideration, if the effusions of Petrarch, Tasso, and other stars of lesser magnitude, which sprang up near the close of the middle ages, deserve so much praise for the influence which they exercised in originating a purer taste, and producing such a general thirst for knowledge, does not our own age more emphatically demand a tribute for the benefits its literature has conferred upon us, the effects of which will be felt and acknowledged by ages yet to come. But there is one respect in which the poetry of the present age differs from that of the period to which I have just alluded. Its object was to correct the errors and im-society its refining and elevating influence. It is perfections of those languages whose ancient purity had, in a great measure, been corrupted, and to promote a purer literary taste. But that of our day has for its most peculiar feature, that while it does not, by any means, neglect the culti vation of taste, it deals principally with the af fections, feelings, and sensibilities of our hearts. So true is this, that it only requires to be stated, in order to its full and free admission.

In order, however, to appreciate this more fully, we have only to imagine the state of things that would naturally exist if those bright wanderers through fancy's domains were stricken from the list of our earthly joys and earthly pursuits; nay, I need not say earthly, for those creations of the mind to which I allude elevate and assist the soul in its aspirations after immortality. Take away

to this that we may justly attribute much of the refined feeling and sensibility which exist among the females of the present day. Mrs. Ellis truly says, "Woman without poetry is a picture without sunshine-we see every object as when the sunshine is upon it; but the beauty of the whole is wanting. The atmospheric tints, the harmony of earth and sky we look for in vain; and we feel that though the actual substance of hill and dale, of wood and water are the same, the spirituality of the scene is gone."

Poetry follows us through life. The lullaby of the cradle, the sonnet of pure affection, the warrior's strain, the exile's song of home, and the epitaph on the silent marble, all proclaim that poetry is wedded to the best feelings of our nature, and helps to form and chasten them.

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Original.

DURATION OF MEMORY.

DURATION OF MEMORY.-NO. I.

BY D. W. CLARK, M. A.

LORD BACON and other eminent philosophers have entertained the belief that no thoughts are absolutely lost; that though they may seem to be forgotten, yet they are virtually retained, and may, even after the lapse of ages, when the latent energies of the soul are brought into action, be perfectly restored to the recollection. This doctrine, if true, is of great importance in its practical bearings upon the human race. In its relation to the infantile mind, and also when considered in reference to the retributions of a future state, it is fraught with results of no common magnitude. It may not then be uninteresting to the inquirer after truth, if we attempt to give a brief detail of the arguments by which the doctrine is supported; and also illustrate its evident connection with the education, the mental and moral training of this life, and its bearing upon our condition in the life to

come.

It will be a definition of memory sufficiently close for our present purpose, to say that it is that susceptibility or faculty of the mind, by which it retains its past experiences, so as to call them up for future use.

of memory in its practical and living importance. We now proceed to another view of it, which brings us in closer connection with that which we wish to keep uppermost in the mind, viz., the relation which these intellectual susceptibilities obviously have with a future and general judgment. In referring to the common experience of mankind—for we choose to dwell upon facts and experience, rather than upon the technicalities and abstrusities of science-we shall find that as the lapse of time increases, the memory seems to hold our past trains of thought, and emotions, with a weaker and still weaker grasp. "We remember," says Mr. Upham, "many incidents, even of a trifling nature, which occurred to-day, or the present week, while those of yesterday or of last week, are forgotten. But if the increased period of months and years throws itself between the present time, and the date of our past experiences, how infrequent is the recurrence of our ancient joys, regrets, and sufferings, and then how weak and shadowy they appear. Increase the time a little farther, and a dark cloud rests upon that portion of our history; less substantial than a dream, it eludes our search and becomes to us as if it had never been.”

Our fleeting and fading thoughts seem like the vanishing scenes which fade from the view of the mariner, as he holds on his course into the trackless and boundless ocean, leaving behind him the objects of his interest and affection, his country and his home. As the distance increases, the forms and figures of objects on the shore become indistinct and confused. His straining eyes can no longer descry the rude cottage by the beach, where dwell the buds of affection and the flowers of promiseall have become a dim and shadowy mass. It is true, the lofty mountain, the towering Alp, still presents its broad outline, and seems to mock the tardy progress of the sea-laboring vessel, and to defy the effects of distance. But too soon, even while the mariner hangs over the tafferel of his bark, to cast one longing, lingering look toward the distant objects of his affection, even the mountain's dim and fading outline becomes confused and mingled with the misty haze, so that what is mountain and what is shadow can no longer be as

Every one is conscious of the workings of this principle within him; and there is hardly one in the whole range of our mental economy, fraught with higher intellectual and moral consequences. Without it, our past existence, as well as the vast eternity that stretches away in immeasurable extent behind us, would be to us as if it had never been. The bright, the sunny days and scenes of youth, would have perished under an impenetrable cloud of forgetfulness. Those acts of friendship, of generosity, of high and devoted philanthropy, that are an honor and a glory to human nature, that cast their warm and genial influences over the soul and kindle its nobler sensibilities, too often frozen and paralized by its intercourse with the cold, calculating world, would fall from the bright firmament of intellect, and quench their glory in everlasting oblivion. The lamp of experience would cease to throw its radiance upon the path-certained. way of life; and all that is honorable and dignified in human nature; all that is lovely in morals, pure and elevated in virtue; and all in human experience that can touch the cords of human sympathy, to win the sinner from the error of his way, or to confim the votary of honor and virtue in his heaven-directed course, would be blotted from that cluster of virtuous incentives, which now burn, like so many lamps, along the path-way of human experience.

But we need not, we have not time to say more

So it is with the mind's treasures, even its noblest and its best. How soon, and, seemingly, how irrecoverably, are the incidents of life forgotten! The light visions of the soul, linked in the memory by no cords of association, riveted by no powerfully excited and deep seated emotion, soon flee away and are forgotten. They are like names and characters drawn by the truant school-boy on banks of snow, which the drifting breeze fills up, or the rising sun melts away. But on the other hand, those events of our life that have made a

JUSTICE AND CHARITY.

8

THE PIOUS PRINCESS.

them. They visited Portsmouth-and in the dockyard of Portsca, a circumstance occurred, trivial in itself, but pregnant with consequences, which eternity alone will fully develop. The Emperor, whilst standing on the balcony of the tower which overlooks the dock-yard, and commands an extensive prospect of the surrounding country, was accosted with great courtesy by a gentleman in black, who offered his majesty the use of his telescope, and gave him all the information he desired as to surrounding objects. This gentleman was the Rev. Leigh Richmond, the author of the "Dairyman's Daughter," a tract now known in all quarters of the globe. On returning home, the good man, revolving the events of the day, resolved on testifying his respect for the Emperor, by sending him a copy of his tract, and accompanying it by a reference in writing, to the unexpected meeting on the dock-yard tower. It was sent accordingly, and on the Emperor's return to Russia, acknowledged by the present from his Majesty of a handsome diamond ring. The tract was given to the Princess M.,-by her translated into the Russian language, and a large edition of it published, at his Majesty's expense, for circulation through the empire. This led to a correspondence betwixt the Princess and the author, and this again to her translation and composition of many other tracts, multitudes of which have been and are still scattered in all directions in that land. This was to the Princess a labor of love. She found her chief delight in the practical consecration of all her time and talents to the glory of her Savior—and in her own conduct as a Christian in all the relations in life, she exemplified the meekness, humility, unaffected gentleness, unrelaxing benevolence, and enlightened and well tempered zeal, so rarely found as the ornament of a palace. In the year 1820, she was occupying apartments in the Tauridan palace at St. Petersburg. There the writer became acquainted with this admirable lady, who, by the unwearied labor of her pen, has done so much for her country. There was much of grandeur in her abode, for it was an imperial palace; but in her dress, her demeanor, the tone and tenor of her con

THE PIOUS PRINCESS. MANY readers will remember the invasion of Russia by the French army in the winter of 1812the conflagration of Moscow-and the consequent overthrow of Napoleon's gigantic projects, by the almost entire destruction of the legions so long accustomed to conquest and victory. Amongst the inhabitants of Moscow, who having, on the approach of the enemy, evacuated the city, returned to the now smoking and smouldering ruins of that ancient capital, was the subject of the present sketch. She was then young and handsome, and by her marriage with Prince M., associated with the highest personages of the empire. She had become, by the cultivation of superior talent, and the improvement of favorable opportunities, versed in general literatue, and was able to read, write, and converse in the English language, with considerable facility and elegance. Two little girls, the pledges of conjugal affection, accom. panied the Princess in her temporary exile from the devoted city, and on her return soothed and solaced her amidst the sorrows and suffering which, in common with less noble citizens, she was called at that great national crisis to endure. At that period, the providence of God conducted to Moscow, on his way to Britain, the Rev. Mr. P., who, on being introduced to the Princess, was received by her with great Christian hospitality, and requested to take up his permanent residence beneath her roof, and act as tutor to the young princesses. He embraced the overture, and employed the influence he thus unexpectedly obtained, for the purpose of promoting the spiritual interests of Russia's unenlightened population. Through the intervention of the Princess M., a rescript was obtained from the Emperor Alexander for the formation of the Russian Bible Society, the foundation of which was laid amidst the ashes of the ancient capital. Thirteen years after, the Society became defunct, in consequence of priestly jealousy; but who can calculate the amount of good accomplished by the operation of that noble institution? It was the spring time of Scythia, and the seed of divine truth was scattered in abundance. Many years have since elapsed, much fruit has already been gather-versation, there was nothing "unbecoming the ed, but the harvest is yet to come. Come it will: Russia, like Germany, will be reformed from within. Many Luthers are now perusing in her colleges and monasteries the words of everlasting life-the spirit of liberty is slowly and silently, but surely, spreading amongst the people, and ere long the steppes and forests of the north will be vocal with "the joyful sound."

The reader is now requested to recall another historical event-the visit of the allied sovereigns to England, after the supposed overthrow of her common foe, Napoleon, Alexander was amongst

Gospel," and much, very much, that adorned the doctrine of God her Savior. She still survives, and is descending the hill of life as gracefully as she once stood upon its summit. Her daughters, too, it is believed, have imbibed her spirit, and are treading in her steps. Thus, even in Russia, benighted Russia, there are some shining lights which relieve the dense gloom of superstition, and presage an approaching day of moral renovation. Let those Christian females whose position is so much more favorable for the exhibition of Christian character, and the exercise of Christian charity, emulate the

RELIGIOUS HOPE.