touched, to which their own experience has not an echo ?

"Hunger and sickness and sorrow may come upon you when you'll be far from your own, and from them that love you." Or, "He's far from his own the crather-the pretty young boy."

"Mavourneen dheelish my sweet darling," is expressive of great tenderness.

"My father, the heavens be his bed!" when uttered with fervency has both solemnity and pathos.

In their good wishes the Irish are most ingenious. "May every hair of your honour's head become a mould candle to light you into glory." "May you live a hundred years and a day longer," which last words seem to be added from a sudden impulse, to throw another weight into the scale, or to heap another blessing into the measure already overflowing.

There is also a great deal of imagination in the manner in which they account for what they do not, or will not understand rationally: always referring directly to the principles of good or evil. Thus a hard and unjust steward who wore his ears stuffed with wool, was said to have adopted this custom that he might not hear the cries of the widow and the orphan.

In reply to instructions that were to prove his constancy, a peasant exclaims, "Manim asthee hir, my soul is within you." A mother thus regrets her son's approaching marriage, "You're going to break the ring about your father's hearth and mine." A brokenhearted mother exclaims, "My soul to glory, but my child's murthered !"

In a note by Crofton Croker, in his Fairy Legends, he remarks, "The Irish, like the Tuscans, as observed by Mr. Rose in his interesting Letters from the North of Italy, are extremely picturesque in their language. Thus they constantly use the word dark as synonymous with blind; and a blind beggar will implore you to 'Look down with pity on a poor dark man."

It may be observed here that the Irish, like the Scotch, by a very beautiful and tender euphemism, call idiots, innocents. A lady of rank in Ireland, the lady Bountiful of her neighbourhood, was one day asking a man about a poor orphan: "Ah! my lady,"

said he, "the poor creature is sadly afflicted with innocence !" And another peculiarity in the phraseology of the Irish, is their fondness for using what Mr. Burke would term "sublime adjectives," instead of the common English adverbs-very, extremely, &c. Thus an Irishman will say, "Its a cruel cold morning;" or "There's a power of ivy growing on the old church."

There is a peculiarity of constitution both mental and bodily, observable in the Irish people, for which it is difficult to account. One of their most amiable characteristics is the absence of satire, perhaps it would be more correct to say contemptuous satire; for the Irish are quick to see the ridiculous, but they can see without despising it. Unacquainted with that qualifying medium between what amuses them, and what excites their passions-that medium which an Englishman fills up with every variety and degree of contempt, they pass immediately from laughter to indignation; and thus amongst the least civilized classes of the Irish, the social meeting too often terminates in the deadly fray. Madame de Stael in speaking of the Italians, makes the same observation with regard to the absence of contemptuous satire from their national character; and it is to this amiable trait, in connection with great natural enthusiasm, that we may reasonably attribute the poetical constitution of both people. It is impossible to imagine that those combined ebullitions of music and verse, for which Italy has been celebrated, and which have unquestionably given a poetical tone to the character of her people;that those bursts of impassioned feeling finding at the same time a language and a voice, should ever have flourished under the auspices of John Bull; or that he should have sat by, aud witnessed with delight those exhibitions of irrelevant tropes, and metaphors, and splendid perorations, and flashes of wit, and peals of passionate eloquence, for which Irish oratory has been distinguished. No; there is nothing more destructive to enthusiasm and poetry, indeed to genius in its most unlimited sense, than contempt. It is true, the calm judgment of the censor is often necessary to restrain the exuberance of undisciplined fancy, but he who prides himself upon being able to put

down with a sneer, whatever is unnecessary in feeling, and extraneous in taste and imagination, ought to feel bound to supply, with something equally conducive to happiness, the void which this practice must necessarily occasion in the highest range of intellectual gratification.

If other evidence were necessary, beyond what is afforded by the nature of the human mind, to prove that poetry may not only be mingled with, but highly enhance all that we enjoy and admire, we have this evidence in the Bible, abounding as it does in every variety of poetical language which it has entered into the mind of man to conceive. A slight examination of the different meanings attached to words of common and familiar signification, will sufficiently illustrate the high tone of imaginative interest flowing through the whole.

The words I have selected are, hand, wing, foot, head, mind, heart, and soul, of which hand is perhaps the most unlimited in its application.

HAND.

His hand will be against every man, and every man's hand against him. And the children of Israel went out with an high hand. The day of their calamity is at hand. -The Lord made all that he did to prosper in his hand. The hand of the Lord is sore upon us. For he put his life in his hand, and slew the Philistine. As soon as the kingdom was confirmed in his hand. I will set his hand also in the sea, and his right hand in the rivers. In the shadow of his hand hath he hid me.-Would we had died by the hand of the Lord. The hand of the Lord is gone out against me. The hand of the Lord was strong upon me. If thou wilt take the left hand, then I will go to the right; or if thou depart to the right hand, then I will go to the left.-Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.-I will remember the years of the right hand of the Most High -A wise man hears at his right hand. -Let my right hand forget her cunning. Is there not a lie in my right hand. If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off-They gave to me and Barnabas the right hand of fellowship.

Here we find the word hand is not only used for the instrument of performing, maintaining, and possessing, but that it supplies the place of power, in all its different modifications of will, action, and suffering.

WING.

As one gathereth eggs that are left, have I gathered all the earth; and there was none that moved the wing.Ye have seen what I have done unto the Egyptians, and how I bore you on eagles' wings, and brought you unto myself. A full reward be given thee of the Lord God of Israel, under whose wings thou art come to trust.

And he rode upon a cherub, and did fly: yea, he did fly upon the wings of the wind.-Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away and be at rest.-Hide me under the shadow of thy wings. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea. Riches make themselves wings.-Wo to the land shadowing with wings!-The wind hath bound her up in her wings. The sun of righteousness shall arise with healing in his wings.

The word wing is here used not only as the instrument of conveying aloft, or away; but as the means of sheltering and protecting; from the two different associations

which we have with the flight of a bird, and the brooding of its young.

FOOT.

He will keep the feet of his saints, and the wicked shall be silent in darkness.-He maketh my feet like hinds' feet. He that is ready to slip with his feet, is as a lamp despised in the thought of him that is at ease. I was eyes to the blind, and feet was I to the lame-He shall subdue the people under us, and the nations under our

feet. Suffer not our feet to be moved. - My feet were almost gone.-Lift up thy feet unto the perpetual desolations.-Her feet go down to death.-How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good

tidings. Thou hast put all things in subjection under his feet.-No man lifted up his foot in all the land. The flood breaketh out from the inhabitant; even the waters forgotten of the foot; they are dried up, they are gone away from men.

We see by these passages that foot is used in a very unlimited sense, as a foundation and a stay, as well as a means of establishing, confirming, moving, overcoming, and destroying.

HEAD.

Yet within three days shall Pharaoh lift up thine head, and shall restore thee unto thy place.-Thou hast kept me to be the head of the heathen. Thy blood shall be upon thine own head. Though his excellency mount up into the heavens, and his head reach the clouds.-Mine iniquities are gone over mine head.-Blessings are upon the head of the just.-Thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head.-Mine head is filled with dew.-Thou hast built thy high places at every head of the way.-Thy dream and the visions of thy head upon thy bed.-For this cause ought the woman to have power on her head, because of the angels.

We find head used here as it is in our ordinary language, not only as the chief portion of any whole, and the centre from whence our ideas flow; but as a figure it is most frequently made to stand for the highest part of man's nature-that which is most capable of being exalted or depressed-most calculated for receiving honour, as well as suffering degradation.

MIND.

And they put him in ward, that the mind of the Lord might be shown them.-Bring it again to mind, O ye transgressors.-Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee. Sitting clothed, and in his right mind. The carnal mind is enmity against God. -Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind.Even their mind and conscience is defiled.-Be all of one mind. It was in my mind to build an house. To do good or bad of mine own mind. I know the forwardness of your mind.-Gird up the loins of your mind.Comfort the feeble-minded.-A double minded man is unstable in all his ways.

Here we see that in the language of scripture, precisely the same license is used as in that of our poets. The word mind represents an ideal centre from whence volitions flow, and relates almost exclusively to the understanding, the memory, and will.

HEART.

And God saw that every imagination of the thoughts of man's heart was only evil continually. And Jacob's heart fainted, for he believed them not.-Pharaoh's heart was hardened.-Lay up these my words in your heart.My brethren that went up with me made the heart of the people melt. For the divisions of Reuben there were great searchings of heart. And it was so, that when he had turned his back to go from Samuel, God gave him another heart. - David's heart smote him. His heart died within him. And God gave Solomon wisdom and understanding exceeding much, and largeness of heart,

even as the sand that is on the sea shore.-His wives turned away his heart. I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy.-A broken and contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise. By sorrow of heart is the spirit broken. -I am pained at my very heart. I weep for thee with bitterness of heart. Out of the heart proceed evil thoughts. Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. Did not our heart burn within us, while he talked by the way.-Love the Lord thy God with all thy

heart.

The difference between heart and mind is here apparent. Heart comprehends the understanding and the affections, but has nothing to do with either memory or will, except as the affections may be considered as the moving cause of impressions upon the memory, and operations upon the will; while mind confined to the sphere of the intellects has nothing to do with the affections.

SOUL.

And man became a hving soul. Set your soul to seek the Lord. The law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul. He satisfieth the longing soul, and filleth the hungry soul with goodness.-Fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell. He hath poured out his soul unto death. -My soul is weary of my life. Unto thee, O Lord, do I lift up my soul. We were willing to have imparted unto you, not the gospel of God only, but also our own souls, because

ye were dear unto us. In patience possess ye your souls. -He that winneth souls is wise. Thou fool, this night shall thy soul be required of thee. Take heed to thyself, and keep thy soul diligently, lest thou forget the things which thine eyes have seen. Why art thou cast down, O my soul, and why art thou disquieted within me?As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God!-My soul shall be joyful in the Lord.-Save me, O God, for the waters are come in unto my soul.-Unless the Lord had been my help, my soul had almost dwelt in silence. My soul fainteth for thy salvation. My soul is even as a weaned child.-I shall go softly all my years in the bitterness of my soul. -The Lord is my portion, saith my soul.-My soul doth

magnify the Lord.

We now find that every attribute both of the mind and the heart are comprehended in the meaning of the word soul. Not only is the soul capable of willing, acting, and suffering, but also of loving; and when we pursue the idea of love through all its gradations, down to simple preference, we shall have traversed a region comprising every impulse by which our nature is capable of being influenced. But in addition to the most extensive signification of mind and heart, soul obtains a character more dignified and profound, from being associated with the principle of life with man's moral responsibility-and with eternity.

In examining these few words we are struck with the idea, of how much they would lose in beauty and interest by being confined to their literal and absolute signification; and just in the same proportion would our intellectual attainments and pursuits be robbed of their ornament and charm, by being separated from the poetry of life.

THE POETRY OF LOVE.

ON entering upon the poetry of the human mind, the passions naturally present themselves as a proper subject of interesting discussion; because as poetry belongs not so much to the sphere of intellect, as to that of feeling, we must look to the passions, as to the living principle, which gives intensity to perception, and vividness to thought. All mankind who are gifted with common sense, are capable of writing verses, but all cannot feel, and still less can all write poetically. In order to do this it is necessary to feel deeply. By the exercise of intellectual power we may learn what are the component parts of a flower, but this alone will never make us sensible of its beauty. The same power may collect and disseminate the truths most important to the well being of society, but it cannot enforce their reception. In short, though it may instruct, improve, invigorate, and supply the mind with a perpetual fund of information, intellectual power alone can never make a poet, nor excite that love of poetrythat ardent desire in the soul for what it feeds on, which gives to the poetic mind a refinement, an energy, and a sense of happiness unknown to that which subsists merely upon knowledge. Hence we may fairly conclude, that the man who is wholly dispassionate himself, and who has neither observed, nor studied the nature of passion in others, can never be a poet; any more than the artist who has never felt the exhilaration of joy, nor witnessed its effects, can represent in painting or marble a personification of delight.

To examine the passions individually would be a work of time and patience, or rather of impatience. We will therefore dismiss those which are malevolent or injurious to the peace of society; for though rage, envy, malice, jealousy, and above all the master passion of revenge, may supply

and blushes, as well as of that which never told its tale; of the love which Milton thought worthy of being described in its purest, holiest character; and of the love which lives and glows in the pages of every poet from Milton down to Byron, Burns, and Moore.

That all who have touched the poet's magic pen, have at one time or other of their lives made love their theme, and that they have bestowed upon this theme their highest powers, is proof sufficient to establish the fact that love is of all the passions the most poetical; a fact in no way contradicted or affected by the vulgar profanation to which this theme more than any other has been subjected. All human beings are not capable of ambition, of envy, of hate, or indeed of any other passion; but all are capable of love, in a greater or less degree, and according to certain modifications; it follows therefore as a necessary consequence, that love should form a favourite and familiar theme, with multitudes who know nothing of its refinements, and high capabilities.

The universal tendency of love to exalt its object, is a fact which at once gives it importance, dignity, and refinement. Importance because of its prevalence amongst mankind; dignity, because whatever raises the tone of moral feeling, and disposes to

genius a character of depth and power; yet as those to which we are about to turn our attention are so much more congenial to the peaceful spirit of the muse, we will devote our time solely to the consideration of the poetry of love, and grief.

First then we begin with love; a subject hourly trampled in the dust, and yet hourly rising from its degredation with fresh life, and fresh vigour, to claim, in spite of the perpetual profanation of vulgar familiarity, the best and warmest tribute of the poet's lay. By love I do not mean that moderate but high-toned attachment which may be classed under the general head of affection -of this hereafter. For the present I am daring enough to speak in plain prose, and even in this enlightened day, of the love of May-day queens, and village swains; of the love of Damon and Delias; of the love which speaks in the common-place of sighs

ety; and refinement because it enters into the secrets of social intercourse, and delights in nothing so much as communicating the happiness it derives from all that is most admirable in art and nature. If that is a contemptible or insignificant passion under whose influence more has been dared, and done, and suffered, than under any other; then is the human mind itself contemptible, and the name of insignificance may very properly be applied to all those impulses of human nature which have given rise to the revolutions of past ages, and the most conspicuous events which mark the history of the world.

It seems to me that love originates in a mixture of admiration and pity. Without some feeling of admiration, no sentient being could first begin to love; and without some touch of pity, love would be deficient in its character of tenderness, and that irresistible desire to serve the object, which impels to the most extraordinary acts of disinterestedness and devotion. I grant that after love has once taken possession of the heart, it becomes a sort of instinct, and can then maintain an existence too miserable, and degraded, for a name, long after admiration and even pity have become extinct. But in the first instance there must be some quality we admire to attract our attention and win our favour, and there must be some deficiency in the happiness of this object, which we think we can supply, or we should never dream of attaching ourselves to it. It may be asked since love sometimes fixes itself upon an inferior object, degraded below the possession of dignity or virtue, where then can be the admiration? I answer, that in such cases the mind that loves must be degraded too, and consequently it is subject to call evil good, and may thus discover qualities admirable to its perverted vision, which a more discriminating eye would turn from with disgust. Again, it is still more reasonable to ask when love is fixed upon an object apparently the centre of happiness, to which prosperity in every shape is ministering, where then can be the pity? We all know that the appearance of happiness is deceitful, and we all suspect that even under the most flattering aspect, there is a mingled yarn in the web of life, which renders the experience of others, like our own, a mixture of joy and sorrow; but if a being can be found in whose happiness is no broken link, no chord unstrung, who has no false friend, no flattering enemy, no threatening of infirmity, no flaw in worldly comfort and security; I would answer the question by asking, is human happiness of so firm and durable a nature that once established, it remains unshaken? No; the summit of earthly felicity is one of such perilous attainment, that the nearer we see any one approaching it, the more we long to protect them from the danger to come to stretch out our arms, and if we cannot prevent, at least to break their fall. We feel towards such an one, that the day will come when they may want a real friend, a firm support, a true comforter, and we hasten the bond that unites our fate with theirs, that we may be ready in the days of "trial and wo."

If admiration did not form a competent part of our love, we should not feel so ardent a desire as is generally evinced, to obtain for the object beloved, the admiration of others. We long for others to behold them with our eyes, that they may participate in our feelings and do what we consider justice to the idols of our imagination; and though this can seldom be the case to the extent of our wishes, we know that to listen to the well-merited praises of those we love, is (at least to women) the most intense enjoyment this world can afford. To purchase this gratification what anxiety we endure, what study we bestow, what ardent desire we experience, that they may commit no errors cognizable to the world's eye; but steering an open, honourable, upright course, may defy the scrutiny of envious eyes, and claim as their due from society at large, that tribute of admiration which we are ever ready to bestow. But the unspeakable anguish with which we behold any departure from this honourable course of conduct, is perhaps the strongest proof, how intimately our sense of all that is admirable in the human character is interwoven with our affections. I do not pretend to say, that we are all so influenced by right feeling, or so well assured of the precise line of demarcation between good and evil, as to lament over the errors of those we love, exactly in proportion to their moral culpability. Far from it. But let that which all hearts can feellet the stigma of the world's disgrace fall upon them-let it at the same time be voluntarily incurred, and richly merited, and ye who tell us of the loss of friends or fortune, of poverty, or sickness or death, match the agony of this conviction if you can. No; it has neither companion nor similitude. In the wide range of human calamity there is not one that bears any proportion to this.

It may be said of pity also, that there are cases in which we are scarcely aware of its forming any part of our love; but is not our love at such times languid, spiritless, and inert? No sooner does sickness or misfortune assail the object of our regard, than it assumes a new life, and all that was dear before, becomes doubly valuable beneath the pressure of affliction, or on the brink of the grave. How often has pity brought to light