Of poesy, that it should be the friend
To sooth the cares, and lift the thoughts of man."

There

Poems, p. 68, Galignani Edition. To these just and profound views of the nature of poetry, the critics and amateurs of Great Britain seem to be just awaking out of the charmed sleep into which they had been thrown by the wonderful genius of Byron. The preface to Philip Van Artevelde, contains the clearest statement of the errors of the Byronic school which we have yet seen. is still wanted a clear and just criticism upon Bryon's poetry, and upon his character, as the basis and fountain of his poetry. Scott's beautiful and generous essay upon Childe Harold, though the best which we have, does not touch the centre of the problem. He who alone did, in our judgment, fully understand the errors and excellencies of the unhappy Poet, has left us without giving such a criticism. We allude to Gothe, who, separated from all English party feeling, and having himself passed through the mazes of error which entangled Byron, has frequently indicated how thoroughly he understood both the bright and dark side of his poetical character. But we are rambling from our subject. We wished to say a word of the prose writings of Keats.

These have not hitherto been published, but it appears to us, from the specimens which we have seen of them, that they are of a higher order of composition than his poems. There is in them a depth and grasp of thought; a logical accuracy of expression; a fulness of intellectual power, and an earnest struggling after truth, which remind us of the prose of Burns. They are only letters, not regular treatises, yet they touch upon the deepest veins of thought, and ascend the highest heaven of contemplation. There is, in one of them, the idea of a system of theology, the basis of which is the pure Christian doctrine of regeneration; which shows a sincere depth of religious sentiment; though he seems by no means satisfied with the outward forms of religion about him. How could he be so? We feel a little proud that we, in this western valley, are the first to publish specimens of these writings; and cannot but mention it as one example among a thousand of our finding in this new country things we should least expect to meet with. Mr. Flint mentions an old lady in Arkansas who was reading Plato in the Greek. Almost as strange is it to meet with the original papers of John Keats, at the Falls of the Ohio. We hope that they will ere long be put into the possession of the public. Our next number will contain a description of the cave of Staffa.

In another part of the present number, we have given a poem

of the same author. There is much pathos in the sentiments of despondency, self-accusation, and distrust of his own genius which it expresses. These feelings which wore down his strength and hope, and made him a more susceptible victim of a cruel and unjust criticism, are by no means to be confounded with weakness of mind, or a natural deficiency of courage. His genius was exuberant; he was of a lion-hearted spirit; but the excess of sensibility, ideality, and reverence over the prac tical faculties, caused him often to fear, where he should have hoped. He had conceived a vast idea, and its very magnitude oppressed his spirit, and palsied his arm. He says himself—

-There ever rolls

A vast idea before me, and I glean

Therefrom my liberty; thence too I've seen
The end and aim of Poesy."

His tender heart, his vivid imagination, his soaring spirit, consumed the springs of life, when his day had hardly opened, and so his bright sun was overclouded by baleful mists, and eclipsed by the black orb of death, long ere it reached its zenith; and in the words of Artevelde

"He was one

Of many thousand such who die betimes,
Whose story is a fragment known to few."

ED.

Here beginneth my journal, this Thursday, the 25th day of June, Anno Domini 1818. This morning we arose at 4, and set off in a Scotch mist; put up once under a tree, and in fine, have walked wet and dry to this place, called in the vulgar tongue Endmoor, 17 miles; we have not been incommoded by our knapsacks; they serve capitally, and we shall go on very well.

June 26-I merely put pro forma, for there is no such thing as time and space, which by the way came forcibly upon me on seeing for the first hour the Lake and Mountains of Winander-I cannot describe them-they surpass my expectationbeautiful water-shores and islands green to the margemountains all round up to the clouds. We set out from Endmoor this morning, breakfasted at Kendal with a soldier who had been in all the wars for the last seventeen years-then we have walked to Bowne's to dinner-said Bowne's situated on the Lake where we have just dined, and I am writing at this present. I took an oar to one of the islands to take up some trout for our dinner, which they keep in porous boxes. I enquired of the waiter for Wordsworth-he said he knew

him, and that he had been here a few days ago, canvassing for the Lowthers. What think you of that-Wordsworth versus Brougham!! Sad-sad-sad-and yet the family has been his friend always. What can we say? We are now about seven miles from Rydale, and expect to see him to-morrow. You shall hear all about our visit.

There are many disfigurements to this Lake-not in the way of land or water. No; the two views we have had of it are of the most noble tenderness--they can never fade awaythey make one forget the divisions of life; age, youth, poverty and riches; and refine one's sensual vision into a sort of north star which can never cease to be open lidded and stedfast over the wonders of the great Power. The disfigurement I mean is the miasma of London. I do suppose it contaminated with bucks and soldiers, and women of fashion--and hat-band ignorance. The border inhabitants are quite out of keeping with the romance about them, from a continual intercourse with London rank and fashion. But why should I grumble? They let me have a prime glass of soda water-O they are as good as their neighbors. But Lord Wordsworth, instead of being in retirement, has himself and his house full in the thick of fashionable visitors quite convenient to be pointed at all the summer long. When we had gone about half this morning, we began to get among the hills and to see the mountains grow up. before us-the other half brought us to Wynandermere, 14 miles to dinner. The weather is capital for the views, but is now rather misty, and we are in doubt whether to walk to Ambleside to tea-it is five miles along the borders of the Lake. Loughrigg will swell up before us all the way--I have an amazing partiality for mountains in the clouds. There is nothing in Devon like this, and Brown says there is nothing in Wales to be compared to it. I must tell you, that in going through Cheshire and Lancashire, I saw the Welsh mountains at a distance. We have passed the two castles, Lancaster and Kendal. 27th-We walked here to Ambleside yesterday along the border of Winandermere all beautiful with wooded shores and Islands-our road was a winding lane, wooded on each side, and green overhead, full of Foxgloves-every now and then a glimpse of the Lake, and all the while Kirkstone and other large hills nestled together in a sort of grey black mist. Ambleside is at the northern extremity of the Lake. We arose this morning at six, because we call it a day of rest, having to call on Wordsworth who lives only two miles hence-before breakfast we went to see the Ambleside water fall. The morning beautiful-the walk early among

the hills. We, I may say, fortunately, missed the direct path, and after wandering a little, found it out by the noise-for, mark you, it is buried in trees, in the bottom of the valley— the stream itself is interesting throughout with "mazy error over pendant shades." Milton meant a smooth river-this is buffetting all the way on a rocky bed ever various but the waterfall itself, which I came suddenly upon, gave me a pleasant twinge. First we stood a little below the head about half way down the first fall, buried deep in trees, and saw it streaming down two more descents to the depth of near fifty feet-then we went on a jut of rock nearly level with the tsecond fall-head, where the first fall was above us, and the third below our feet still-at the same time we saw that the water was divided by a sort of cataract island on whose other side burst out a glorious stream-then the thunder and the freshness. At the same time the different falls have as different characters; the first darting down the slate-rock like an arrow; the second spreading out like a fan-the third dashed into a mist--and the one on the other side of the rock a sort of mixture of all these. We afterwards moved away a space, and saw nearly the whole more mild, streaming silverly through the trees. What astonishes me more than any thing is the tone, the coloring, the slate, the stone, the moss, the rockweed; or, if I may so say, the intellect, the countenance of such places. The space, the magnitude of mountains and waterfalls are well imagined before one sees them; but this countenance or intellectual tone must surpass every imagination and defy any remembrance. I shall learn poetry here and shall henceforth write more than ever, for the abstract endeavor of being able to add a mite to that mass of beauty which is harvested from these grand materials, by the finest spirits, and put into etherial existence for the relish of one's fellows. I cannot think with Hazlitt that these scenes make man appear little. I never forgot my stature so completelyI live in the eye; and my imagination, surpassed, is at restWe shall see another waterfall near Kydal to which we shall proceed after having put these letters in the post office. I long to be at Carlisle, as I expect there a letter from George and one from you. Let any of my friends see my lettersthey may not be interested in descriptions-descriptions are bad at all times-I did not intend to give you any; but how can I help it? I am anxious you should taste a little of our pleasure; it may not be an unpleasant thing, as you have not the fatigue. I am well in health. Direct henceforth to Post Patrick till the 12th July. Content that probably three or

four pair of eyes whose owners I am rather partial to will run over these lines I remain; and moreover that I am your affectionate brother John.

ART. 13.-A WORD ON MIRACLES.

They who object to Miracles generally, object to them simply as being violations of the laws of nature. They first assume that nature is governed by certain fixed laws, and then deny the possibility of any violation of these laws. They talk as if they knew all the laws, by which the natural and spiritual universe is governed, and could tell what are the proper effects of their laws, and what would be impossible violations of them. What arrogance is this! Let men remem

ber that every age is revealing new laws of nature; let them remember too, that one order of laws is constantly suspending the action of others; that the laws of chemical action are constantly suspending the action of mechanical force; and the laws of vitality constantly suspending the laws of chemical action: and that thus on the same principle the laws of the spiritual world may suspend the influence of all inferior laws. Accordingly a wise man will be slow in refusing to believe in any declared fact because it is strange to him, and a seeming violation of known principles. He must consider whether some new principles may not come into action and produce the given effect, and he must listen without prejudice to the proof of the truth alleged. Let a man listen in this rational spirit to the evidence of the Christian miracles, and he will find new light bursting into his mind, however sceptical he may be. Once waiving the a priori prejudice against miracles in general, and listening to their evidence, as to the evidence of any other alleged truth, he will find his scepticism gradually verging into faith.

The root of the prejudice lies in a wrong definition of the term 'miracle.' The definition is commonly a merely negative one, implying a miracle to be a violation of the ordinary laws of nature, without any reference to the principles and power of the divine will or the laws of the spiritual world. On this point I may but quote the language of a late work, whose author with all his singularities of expression, shews signs of deep thought and original genius.*

"Deep has been, and is, the significance of miracles," thus quietly begins the Professor; "far deeper, perhaps, than we * Sartor Resartus, p. 256. Boston J. Munroe & Co.-1836.