publics of Venice and Genoa, though they never fully carried out the principle of self-government, and though popular rights continued to be crushed beneath the superincumbent weight of an overgrown and proud aristocracy, have long since read, amidst their own political ruins, an admonitory lecture to the world which will not soon be forgotten. But other and more formidable obstacles were in the way of a fair trial of self-government, in Europe. No people in any country were prepared to govern themselves, at the time this continent was discovered, and began to be planted with colonies. Had the population of any part of the old world been taken up, in mass, and transferred to any territory of the new, they could not have formed a republic with any rational hope of success. They were born under unpropitious stars for such an enterprise. They had been educated. in a poor school, and had formed their habits and modes of thinking under a bad political dynasty, for the great work of teaching the world the lessons of self-government. There were choice spirits, it is true, in many countries, competent to this undertaking, but they were only the few among the many, and to these the voice of Providence seemed to say, come out from among them, and found a new empire in a new world-plant the Tree of Freedom in a soil remote from the tyrant's ax and fire-and then repose under its cool shade -inhale the fragrance of its opening flowersand partake of its ambrosial fruit. This tree is of fairer proportions, of more beauteous foliage, and of sweeter product, than any which ever grew upon the earth, except the one planted by the hand of God, which remained untasted, are bore the name of the "Tree of Life." Of these two trees, the latter grew in Paradise, and the former is now taking deep root in the land of our birth and our love. THE POETIC ELEMENT. BY REV. G. C. BALDWIN. By some means an opinion extensively prevails, that in this matter of fact world of ours, the poetic element is not of much real value. Many conscientiously believe, that to be a poet, is to be a moon-struck visionary, and that to cultivate a taste for poetry, is to unfit the mind for the sober duties of life. Such assume, that poetic talent is incompatible with intellectual strength; and, that he who would strike the Muse's lyre, must live in an ideal world, unmindful of those fearful responsibilities, which arise out of his relations, as a mortal and an immortal being. If such is the legitimate tendency of proper attention to poetry, or the legitimate result of the poetic element, then indeed it is worse than valueless, it is positively pernicious. With due deference, however, to all who, either theoretically or practically entertain such views, we give it, as our firm conviction, that a just apprehension of the nature of this element, and its real influence, will exhibit in a strong light their incorrectness. What is the poetic element? It will be borne in mind, that we are not now speaking of poetry popularly so called, but of its elementary nature. This, we conceive to be, spiritual sympathy with whatever is beautiful, grand, or sublime. It is the mysterious susceptibility, with which our creator has endowed the human soul, to receive those impressions, which the beautiful, the grand or sublime, wherever seen, or heard, or felt, is adapted to produce. The good, and the true, in God's world of mind and character, as well as, the beautiful and magnificent in His world of matter, possess an inherent adaptation to produce a certain class of impressions on every intelligent being who contemplates them; and we conceive, that what we call the poetic element, is nothing more than the God-given susceptibility of our nature, which prepares it to meet this adaptability of universal nature. Now, a sound philosophy teaches us, that a degree of this sympathy, or susceptibility is found in every rational mind, manifesting itself in some form, and that, it is one of those attributes of our higher nature, which affords the clearest evidence of the Divine benevolence. Without it, we might have existed, 'tis true, but we could never have appreciated the glories of this "bright and breathing world." Then, to us there had been no sweetness in flowers, no melody in music, no grandeur in the surging ocean chafed by storms, no sublimity in tall, dusky mountains, wreathed with thunder-clouds, no magnificence in the o'erspread ing sky, nor holy radiance in moon-beams, nor living beauty in the pure stars, as they glitter from the depths of their cerulean homes. Then friendship and love, (which by the way, are merely strong developements of poetic sympathy,) had been unfelt, then, the deep mysteries of nature within, and without us, had remained forever unread. For in the noble verse of Dana, "The rill is tuneless to his ear, who feels As silent, as unseen among the leaves. * * * * * Soul! fearful is thy power, which thus transforms And aside from the teachings of philosophy, if we analyze our experience, we will discover that, the fact of the existence of a degree of this element in every mind, is a matter of consciousness. It may be noticed commingling with our earliest emotions, attuning them to the harmony of creation. Who, in recurring to the experience of his youth, cannot remember the joy which thrilled his heart while gazing upon some stupenduous product of nature, or the splendors of night while her brow was gemmed with stars, when there were mysterious voices in the murmurs of streamlets, and the wild dash of mountain torrents? |