the gathering of vast multitudes assembled for one common purpose, and that the holiest of which our mortal nature is capable, and in the general aspect of sobriety, order, and profound respect which pervades the thicklypeopled city, how much more is to be felt where man exists in a state of greater simplicity, in the rude home of the peasant, or in those little groups of humble dwellings gemming the fertile plain, in the midst of which the tall village spire rises and points to heaven. It is not here as in the city, that the loud peal of many bells announces the hour of prayer, but the single bell tolling at intervals, is converted into music by the fresh pure morning air, and the many simple and delightful associations connected with that well-known sound. Perhaps a beloved and revered minister is there to welcome his people once again within the fold of Christian communion; families separated by the occupations of the week, now meet to offer up their fervent prayers together; the the village pauper stands upon the same foundation as the village lord, and looks upward with the same calm countenance to meet the light of heaven; the comely-habited maiden closes the wicket of her father's garden, and hastens at the universal call; while the feeble steps of infancy and age, blending their weakness and their humble confidence together, are heard slowly advancing along the solemn aisle. No sooner is the simple service ended, than a cordial recognition takes place between the pastor and his congregation, and often between those who meet too seldom-the rich and the poor-the exalted and the lowly: and kind questions are asked of the suffering or the absent, followed by visits of Christian love, and words of consolation, to those who are debarred the privilege of meeting their brethren and their friends within the consecrated walls of the church. It is on these days, that through the stillness of the summer air, we often hear the mournful cadence of distant and harmonious voices, singing at intervals their low sweet requiem over the bier of a departed friend, as they bear him to his last long home beneath the outstretched arms of the sheltering elms, that skirt the precincts of the dead, and cast their sombre shadows | athwart the beams of the declining sun. Perhaps it is a venerable parent who has been quietly translated to his place of rest, and the tears of the surrounding mourners fall into the grave without bitterness, and almost without regret; for the poor have happier thoughts of the last call announcing the termination of mortal suffering, than those whose progress through this world is less interrupted with hardship, toil, and pain. But it is quite as possible that the lifeless form for which that bier is spread, should have been the rustic beauty of the fair and the festival, the pride of the village, the belle who bore away the palm of admiration from her less lovely sisters who now stand weeping by her side, without one touch of envy, or one wish, except to call her back to trace again the flowery meadows, to sing her songs of native melody, and to meet them with her ever-beaming smile of youth and joy. But it may not be. And she who was so fondly cherished, so tenderly beloved, so flattered and admired, is consigned to the cold prison of the tomb, and left to the unbroken silence of her solitary sleep. With the Sabbath evening in the village, are connected a thousand agreeable associations, which those who are not alive to the true poetry of life, are unable to enjoy. Nor is it the least portion of the satisfaction afforded by this day, to see the cattle that have borne their share in the labour of the week, without participating in its reward, browsing in the cool pastures, or resting their toil worn limbs upon the sunny slopes of the verdant hills. The shady lanes around the village afford shelter and refreshment to many a persecuted animal that knows no other day of rest; and as we pass along, we see groups of rosy children wandering hand in hand in quest of wild flowers, or the purple fruit of the bramble, which seems to be the only unalienable property of childhood; or we meet with families going half-way home with a beloved son or daughter, whose portion of servitude is now cast in some distant hamlet, from whence the occasional return is an event of long promise, and widely participated joy. Around the open door of the peasant are other groups of more infantine beauty, and as the father stands beside them, with the Bible in his hand, the fond mother looks alternately at him and them, as if the whole wealth of her existence were centered in these her household treasures; while retiring into some quiet nook of the cottage or the garden, the little patient pupil of Sabbath discipline carefully cons his lesson for the coming week. Farther on within a neatly trimmed enclosure, where the red daisy, and the dark green box, mark out the boundary lines surrounding the rose tree, the sweet briar, and the climbing honeysuckle, stands the quiet habitation of an ancient dame, who diligently spells out the meaning of the sacred page, in uninterrupted loneliness and peace. In the distance we hear the sound of many voices joining in hymns of prayer and praise-the old and the young-the feeble and the firm, raised together in one delightful symphony of gratitude and love: and if scattered here and there, we find little companies of the idle, the thoughtless, or the gay, they are still those whose outward decency-whose fresh bright looks of health and happiness, evince a respect for the Sabbath, and a participation in its universal calm. It is after the contemplation of scenes like these, that we return to our homes, more happy in the thought, that the young have their serious moments, the widely separated their time of meeting, the ignorant their seasons of instruction, the old their consolation, and the weary their day of rest. It is not however to the public offices of religion, that its poetical interest is confined. If we look into the private walks of life, we behold this powerful principle working the most important revolutions in the moral character of man-if into the midst of families, we find it severing or uniting the firmest links of natural connexion-giving solemnity to the sad parting-over the glad meeting after long separation diffusing a holy joy-imparting reverence to the attributes of age-purity and happiness to the cheerful smiles of childhood-and presiding with its sanctifying influence over all the different offices of duty, and charity, and love-or if we look into the human heart, it is here that religion is seen controlling the fiery passions of youth, subduing the stubborn will, softening down the asperities of nature, and mingling with the springs of earthly feeling the pure, inexhaustible waters of eternal life. How would the fond mother endure with fortitude the sad farewell, that separates the son of her hopes from the genial atmosphere of domestic peace, if she did not in her heart consign him to the more judicious care of his heavenly Father? or how would she send him forth alone to trace his distant and dubious pathway through the wilderness of life, but for her faith in the guiding hand which she implores to direct him through its manifold temptations, to lead him safely through its dangers, and bring him back to her yearning bosom unspotted from the world. It is the internal support derived from religion that nerves her for the trial, and reconciles her to the after hours of watchfulness and care, when she may look in vain for tidings from the wanderer, and calculate with fruitless anticipation upon the hour of his return. It is the same feeling of religion not unfrequently excited to enthusiasm, that tears away the youthful devotee from all the joys of nature, and the endearments of domestic love; clothing her fair forehead in the mournful vestments of monastic gloom, and shadowing the young cheek from which the last rose has faded, with the sable pall of a premature and living death. It is religion too that steals upon the soul of the contemplative student, and lures him him away from the haunts of convivial mirth, from the excitement of the flowing bowl, and from the ambition of the sordid or the gay, to devote the highest powers and energies of his mind to the edification of his fellow creatures, and the spring time of his existence to the service of his God. It is this support which keeps alive the hope of the heart-stricken wife, as she pursues her reprobate husband through the dark windings of his sinful course, wooing him back with her unfailing gentleness to the comforts of his home, watching over him in his unguarded moments, with the balm of Christian consolation ever ready for his hour of need, and supplicating with incessant prayers, that a stronger arm than hers may be stretched out to arrest the progress of his erring steps. Without this active and living principle, operating upon the various dispositions of mankind, we should never witness those instances of self denial in the cause of virtue, which afford the strongest evidence of the all-sustaining efficacy of religion. How, for instance, would the compassionate maiden find strength to reject her worthless lover, because the stain of guilt was upon his brow, and because his spirit refused to bow down and worship at the altar of her God, if the claims of duty were not paramount to those of affection? And yet such things have been; and warm, young hearts, whose cords of happiness were rent asunder by the fierce and fiery trial, have chosen for themselves a solitary lot, separate and distinct from the sphere of their long cherished enjoyments, and have dwelt in peace and resignation under the guiding influence of the one divine light, by which all others, from whence they had ever derived hope or gladness were extinguished. Yes; and the man of strong affections, whose downward tendency in the career of worldly occupation, had reduced a tender wife and helpless children to the last extreme of poverty and wretchedness, has been visited with powerful temptation in his hour of weakness, when his perceptions of right and wrong were so confused with bodily and mental suffering, that the limitations of moral good seemed to be yielding to the encroachments of physical evil, when the wants of his starving family were bursting forth in audible and heart-rending appeals for which he had no answer, when the shadows of despair fell around him, and squalid misery encircled his cold hearth. And he too has stood his ground, strong in the confidence that real good, or lasting happiness, never yet was purchased by the sacrifice of virtuous rectitude. But if we measure the strength of the principle by the weakness of the agent it inspires, we would point out, above all other instances of its operative power, that in which a child looks boldly in the face of authority, and daring the retributive judgment which must inevitably follow, openly and freely tells the truth. Sometimes a single falsehood, or a mere evasion would save the little culprit from the pain of public ignominy, from the fury of a tyrant master, and from the punishment that, even in anticipation, checks the warm current of his youthful blood, and sends a shivering thrill through every nerve and fibre of his trembling frame. But he has been instructed by parents whose word he cannot doubt, to believe that there is a good and gracious God looking down upon the children of earth, caring for their sufferings, listening to their prayers, teaching them his holy law, and encouraging them to regard the performance of it above all the enjoyments afforded by the world; and knowing that a strict adherence to the truth is one of the essential points of that law, the penitent child, even with the tears of anguish on his cheek, pronounces the decisive word of truth which seals his sentence upon earth-the word which rejoicing angels bear to the courts of heaven, as the richest tribute humanity can lay before the throne of its Creator. These are but single instances, chosen out from a mass of evidence, clearly proving that religion in its influence upon the affections, in its intimate connexion with those important scenes and circumstances of life, from which we derive the greatest pain or pleasure, in short, in its supreme dominion over the human heart, is, above all other subjects, that which possesses the highest claim to the regard of the poet; not only as being most productive of .ntellectual gratification, but most worthy of him who aspires to the right exercise of the loftiest attributes of mind. A superficial view of religion may lead to the popular and vulgar notion, that its practical duties are incompatible with true refinement of feeling, and elevation of thought; but is not that the most genuine refinement which penetrates into the distant relations of things, and cements, by mental association, the visible and material-the familiar or the gross, with powerful impressions of moral excellence, and beauty, and happiness? Is not that the most elevated range of thought which combines the practical and temporal affairs of men, with the eternal principles upon which the world is established and governed? We We know of nothing that can so fully and so beautifully adorn the ordinary path of life, as religion; because it imparts a spiritual essence to all our customary actions and pursuits, in which the slightest portion of good and evil is involved. We can imagine nothing to exceed in tenderness the merciful dealing of our heavenly Father with his erring and rebellious creatures; and as there is nothing to equal the perfection of the Divine character, so there is no sublimity comparable to that of his nature. Nor is this all. have said that poetry must come home to our own bosoms in order to be truly felt, and religion teaches us that we have a portion in everlasting life-an inheritance in eternity-that the hopes and the fears which stimulate our actions, the powers and the energies with which we are endowed, are not merely given us for the brief purposes of temporal existence-to play their little part upon this sublunary stage-to animate frail creatures that must perish in the tomb, but as links woven in with the great chain of being to be unfolded in a sphere without limitations, in a "world without end." might be averted? How would he solemnize the vow, or seal the blessing, or ratify the curse, without the sanction of divine authority? or how might his soul aspire to the sublime, without expanding its wings in the regions of eternity? No; there is nothing which the poet need reject in the religion of the Bible, or the religion of the heart; but rather let him seek its benignant and inspiring influence, as a light to his genius, a stimulus to his imagination, a guide to his taste, a fire to his ardour, an impetus to his power, and a world thrown open to his enjoyment. IMPRESSION. HITHERTO We have bestowed our attention upon what essentially belongs to poetry, as a medium for receiving and imparting the highest intellectual enjoyment. We now come to the qualifications for composing poetry-the fundamental characteristics of the poet. All persons of cultivated understanding, endowed with an ordinary share of sensibility, are more or less capable of feeling what is poetical; but that all, even amongst those who attempt it, are not equal in some or all of the following qualifications:-capacity of receiving deep impressions imagination — power and taste. These qualifications we shall now consider separately, beginning with the first, which for want of a better term, I have called impression. We would not depreciate the freeness, and the fulness of the benefits of religion, by say-to writing poetry, is owing to their deficiency ing that the poet has a participation in their delights, beyond that enjoyed by others; because we reverently believe the nature of religion to be such as to adapt it to every understanding, render it available in every condition of humanity, and sustaining, and consolatory to every heart. But we have no hesitation in pronouncing it impossible for the poet to reach the same intellectual height, without the aid of religion, as when he soars on angels' wings up to the gates of heaven -to touch the strings of human feeling so powerfully, as when his hand is bathed in the pure fountains of eternal truth. We have already seen how poetry derives its existence from the association of ideas, as well as how such associations must arise out of impressions, and it follows as a natural consequence, that if this be necessary to enable a man to feel poetry, it is still more so to qualify him for writing it. Impressions are, in fact, the secret fund from whence the poet derives his most brilliant thoughts-the material with which he works, the colouring in which he dips his pencil when he paints How for instance would he expatiate upon beauty or excellence, if they had no archetypes in heaven? How would he describe the calamities which tear up the root of domestic peace, and agonize the tortured bo--the inexhaustible fountain to which he apsom, if neither prayer nor appeal were wrung plies for the simplicity of nature, and the out by such wretchedness, and directed to force of truth. a spriritual power by whom the calamity We have before observed, that it is im possible to trace a great proportion of our associations to their original source, because we cannot recall the impressions made upon our mind in infancy; but we know that in that early stage of life. when we were most alive to sensation, all the impressions which we did receive, must have been connected | with pain or pleasure, and that hence arise preference and antipathy, hope and fear, love and hatred. We have the authority of Dr. Johnson, as well as that of our own observation for asserting, that children are not naturally grateful, and from the history of man in a barbarous state, we learn that he is not naturally honest. The reason is, that both the infant and the savage have received pleasure from self-indulgence, but not from the exercise of any moral duty; and therefore it is evident that greater maturity of mind is necessary for the formation of those ideas which arise out of impressions made by the social intercourse of mankind. Yet in a very early state of existence we are capable of deriving more simple ideas from impressions whose strength and durability constitute the riches of the poet. Perhaps the first of this description is, the idea of power, naturally arising in the mind of a child, from the bodily force by which its most violent attempts at resistance are easily overcome. But in order to be deeply impressed with this idea, it is necessary that we should have witnessed some manifestation of power beyond the reach of man's utmost capabilities, and this we behold in the tremendous violence of the winds, the rage of the ocean, the cataract, or the volcano. fields and so on, until at last the idea of number loses all limitation, and the child conceives for the first time, that of infinity. From the contemplation of a widely extended view, we have unquestionably derived our notion of space. Why this idea, arising out of an incalculable number of objects, in themselves ordinary and familiar, should obtain the character of sublime, it is not easy to determine, unless it be that the same expansion of mind is as necessary to receive these two impressions, as to contemplate the nature of unlimited power, which is universally accompanied with sensations of awe, and sometimes of terror. Duration is generally the last which the mind receives of these impressions, and when extended to eternity, it is the most important. This idea does not arise like that of infinity, from objects of calculation, nor like power, from any connexion with impulse or sensation; but steals quietly upon the mind from deep and earnest meditation, sometimes upon objects which have existed from time immemorial, sometimes upon those which will exist for ages yet to come. We gaze upon the ivied walls of the ruined edifice, whose very structure bears evidence of the different manners, customs and occupations of those who once surrounded the now deserted hearth. We walk into the spacious banqueting-room whose walls once echoed to the songs of festivity or triumph, and there the bat holds nightly converse with the owl. We listen to the rush of the evening breeze amongst the deep dark foliage of the firmly-rooted The idea of number multiplied to infinity trees, which have arisen out of seeds scatcomes next, and this it is reasonable to sup- tered by the wandering winds amongst the pose may originate in the contemplation of desolation of fallen magnificence. Even then the stars. We may not be able to recall to the pile must have been a ruin, and we see our remembrance the time when our own by the broken pillar whose base is buried in minds were first awakened to a conception the earth, what an accumulation of matter of the splendour of the heavens; but we time must have strewn around it, to raise have an opportunity of observing in others the level of the surrounding earth, from its the rapt and astonished gaze with which foundation to its centre. We look through they first regard the stars in reference to the wide yawning aperture that seems to their number, and how the opening mind have been a richly-ornamented window, expands as one after another of these and there, where the gallant knight once nightly suns rises, and dawns upon it-first laid his conquering sword at the feet of seen in separate points of light-then in smiling beauty, where the minstrel tuned his groups-then multitudes-then fields span-lyre, and sung the praise of heroes now forgotgled all over with shining glory-then wider | ten, where the snow white hand of the court |