fested his genius when he meditated in one hemisphere, of our globe upon another which had never been explored, when he devised means to navigate unknown seas, and when he persevered in his great enterprize till he had accomplished it. Mr. Fulton, the mechanician, who applied the steam engine to navigation, was a man of genius. Benjamin West, the painter, was a man of genius. He painted many fine pictures, and among others, the subjects of which were taken from the gospel," Christ healing the sick." In this picture Mr. West represented the benevolence of Jesus in his gracious countenance, a variety of diseases in those who surrounded him, and the emotions of desire, hope, and gratitude, in those who expected to be, or who had been, restored to health. The power to do all this so much surpasses the powers of common men that it serves for a clear illustration of nius.

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Bonaparte, who conquered in many battles, and obtained the first magistracy in France by his power of controlling others, and after dethroning kings in Europe, gave kingdoms to his brothers, and who, after having slain his thousands, and tens of thousands, devised wise and practical improvements in the condition of those he permitted to live, was a man of great genius, though he is only to be admired and imitated so far as he effected or intended good to mankind. But there is another order of geniusmen, who having ceased to live, still speak, who are known and honoured for their thoughts, when their actions are forgotten, and with whom we may be familiar, though we should never see them. These are the authors of books, who have recorded their beautiful ideas, that others may be better, and wiser, and happier, than they could be without the intelligence supplied from these divine minds. Shakspeare, who wrote the plays, which almost every reader of the English language possesses, and Milton, the author of Paradise Lost, were men of this class of genius.

We should be thankful to God that such men have ever lived. They exalt our nature, and procure for us plea

sures which we could not enjoy if some minds did not differ from others in glory. If we could not enrich our understandings with the thoughts of others, we should be like savages, in ignorance-or like bees and beavers: men of no age would be more cultivated or improved than their ancestors who lived centuries before them.

The body has different functions: eyes for seeing, ears for hearing, &c. The mind also has its different operations. After we have been instructed in the nature of different objects, and have been taught their names, and the proper use of our senses, we learn to distinguish one substance from another, and we remember the qualities of these various substances: thus, if a lighted lamp and a rose are set before us, we instantly comprehend that the lamp is an invention of art, and the rose a production of nature; that the lamp is for use, and the rose for ornament; that the lamp flame diffuses light and heat, and that the rose delights us by its beauty and its fragrance. The different properties of these objects are comprehended by the mind, though they were first perceived by the senses of sight and smell. This consciousness of the presence of the lamp and the rose, given to the mind by the sight and smell, is called a perception. We receive from the presence of these objects a certain feeling that they indeed exist, and are before us. This exhibition to our minds, of the lamp and the rose, we call a demonstration, or certainty. We understand that the lamp and te rose are not alike—we then distinguish or compare them, and comprehend the different qualities of the two things. When we reflect, as we must, upon the different properties of these objects, we exert the power of comparing things, which is judgment.

But suppose we did not see either of these objects, and should read the following passages of poetry:

Or,

"How far the little candle throws its beams!" Shakspeare.

"I will show you what is beautiful: it is a rose fully

blown. See, how she sits upon her mossy stem, like the queen of all the flowers. Her leaves glow like fire, and

the air is filled with her sweet odour."

In reading the former passage, we should immediately remember, that in some dark night, while we were yet far from a house, we clearly perceived the light of a candle, and we know the light to have proceeded from that candle to our eyes. We first knew this by a perception of the light, and we comprehend that the light was a candle flame, and not another thing, by our judgment. When we read of the extended reach of the candle beams, we know that the fact mentioned is true, because it has been demonstrated to us at a former time. The present certainty of formerly acquired knowledge, is the memory of that knowledge. As we know how far the little candle throws its beams, so we also know that the properties of the rose are well described. With our eyes shut, and far from the candle or the rose, we comprehend the properties of both objects-we perceive them with the "mind's eye," as Shakspeare says. This mind's eye is the imagination. Before the imagination can be employed upon absent objects, that is, before we can think about, or reflect upon absent objects, we must exert the powers of Perception, Judgment, and Memory.

It is, then, by an effort of memory and of imagination that we form an idea of absent objects; and by imagination we comprehend what is written in books, or represented in pictures which exhibit beautiful images. The imagination of an ignorant person is not powerful-he thinks almost always of objects before his eyes; but the imagination of a fine poet is a noble faculty. The poet, or the artist, comprehends and feels more than other men, and he makes others feel, in some measure, as he feels. The imagination of him who writes a fine poem, or a tale, produces invention, or the combination and composition of something new to others. The imagination of a well instructed person, who perhaps can invent nothing, produces taste-which is a power of taking pleasure in somothing beautiful and elegant that may be presented to us.

This same taste, or enjoyment of the beautiful, must exist in the mind of the writer of a poem or tale, or in the mind of an artist, as well as in that of a person who delights in reading a poem, or beholding a good picture. The sympathy of taste makes the poet write-he expects to be admired, and the same sympathy makes other persons admire and enjoy the works of genius.

All that is written in books is literature. Literature is written language: it is divided into prose and poetry. Quadrupeds have four feet, is a prose sentence.

"Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air,"

Poetry is generally written in verse.

is poetry. Verse is a certain measure or quantity of sound, expressed in words, at regular times, during the whole of a poem. This measure, or metre, consists of a certain number of syllables in the printed lines of a poem.

"Heroic metre, which is the most usual kind, consists of lines of ten syllables. *Pope's and Milton's works are chiefly written in this metre; but Pope wrote in rhyme, and Milton chiefly in blank verse :

'Soft as the wily fox is seen to creep,

Where bask on sunny banks the simple sheep.'-Pope. Each of these lines consists of ten syllables; and the last words of each of them, 'creep' and 'sheep,' rhyme to each other; that is to say, resemble each other in sound.

'Ye mists and exhalations that now rise.

From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray,

Till the sun paints your fleery skirts with gold.'-Milton. "Each of these lines also consists of ten syllables; but though they are not in rhyme, we easily distinguish them from prose. The difference consists in the choice of words, and in their arrangement, as may be perceived by reading the same words in an order different from that in which they are at present placed. The ear will feel that

*Pope and Milton are English poets.

the cadence or sound is unlike verse; and the understanding will know that the sense is conveyed in words different from those used in history or in a newspaper. For instance, the following passage cannot be mistaken for prose: Ye exhalations and mists that now rise from steaming lake, or gray or dusky hill, till the sun paints with gold your fleecy skirts.'

"All verses are not written in lines of ten syllables; some are written in eight, and some few in twelve; indeed we meet with lines in poetry of every number of syllables from three to fourteen."

In poetry, words are not used literally, as, for the most part, in prose. Snow is white, expresses what is literally true. The words, snow is white, exactly express what we know to be true, but, the golden sun diffuses his beams over the face of nature, is an expression altogether figurative. We understand not that the sun is gold, but that his yellow lustre resembles the appearance of gold. These words only signify that the sun shines upon the surface of the earth, and the objects which are upon the earth. Truth describes something which really exists, as God made the world. Fiction describes something which might exist, or has been supposed to exist, yet is not now really in existence. One of Gay's Fables begins,

"Remote from cities lived a swain,"

and proceeds to relate a conversation of a shepherd and a philosopher. There have been many shepherds and philosophers; but probably no particular shepherd and philosopher ever met, and held the conversation which Gay describes, yet a shepherd and philosopher might talk together in that manner. Gay's Shepherd and Philosopher is a Fable or Fiction. It is proper to distinguish between fiction and a lie. A Fiction is an avowed invention-a Lie is a false declaration intended to deceive.

English poetry includes the inventions of English poets, and their translations from other languages: from Greek and Latin, and from the modern languages of Euгоре, besides a few from the oriental or Asiatic languages.