phy, he does not, on the other hand, rely too confidently upon the intuitions of his own thought. The historical and the subjective have, each of them, in his nice ear, their rightful voice.

The "Psychology," the "Philosophical Fragments," the "History of Philosophy," together with that noble work whose title stands at the head of this article, have won for Cousin an abiding record upon the mind of his age. By his unwearied efforts, as a lecturer for many years in the Academy at Paris, he has contributed largely to expand and deepen the channel of French speculation, and to indoctrinate the youth of his country with the soundest principles and the most salutary sentiments. It is indeed cheering to witness one brave, strong thinker, like Victor Cousin, amongst the host of persifleurs and madmen who infest French literature, and poison the fountains of French thought. His masterly translations of the Dialogues of Plato are a perpetual memorial of assiduous and careful scholarship and of a liberal and appreciating criticism, no less than an unsurpassed and permanent classic in his vernacular tongue. So marked, indeed, is his uniform justice in rendering the exquisite speech of his master into his own language, that Cousin has been called, in no empty phrase of compliment, the man who, alone of all Frenchmen, has thoroughly understood Plato.

Thus Platonism traverses the ages. In all its movement we recognize in it a fixed identity. No school, whether old or new, in its highest effort, has done any more than to develop the hints of this surpassing creed. Whenever its sure Ideas, those eternal stars in the firmament of truth, have been abandoned, philosophy has gone far astray. Plato had no strict and narrow system. The mighty thoughts which lie scattered across his Dialogues cannot be gathered up into a single plan. The dim outlines of the unity he groped for, reach forth, in their vastness, into the Infinite. God was the grand conception of Plato, - God made manifest in man and in nature, through truth, beauty, and goodness. In these is an arc of that stupendous circle, whose centre, in the sublime. speech of Augustine, is everywhere, whose circumference is nowhere. The calculus of Deity, however, must lie beyond

a finite grasp. This transcendent science is known only in the measureless profundities of the Infinite Reason, only in the clear vision of the Divine Consciousness itself.

The return of Plato, so plainly indicated in the tendencies of the time, will be hailed with joy by all generous souls. It is the renewal, in philosophy, of a Saturnian reign. The Platonic is of all human wisdom the best authenticated. It stands not only upon constant and primary logical necessities, but upon an ancient credit, which, while not always equally maintained, has not, at any time, been wholly lost. Consciousness and history thus give to it a double warrant. Proved by long and ardent conflict, it has come out of the fight at length victorious, with trophies won in service to truth and virtue. It now appears, under the determined and sincere advocacy of Cousin, to awaken a deeper earnestness in our yet meagre sentiment, and to vindicate, for an enslaved and misunderstood Philosophy, her rightful dignity and freedom. Such being its kindly errand, let us welcome, with grateful hearts, its instauration.

ART. V.- Poem delivered at the Dedication of Crawford's Statue of Beethoven, at the Boston Music Hall, on Saturday Evening, March 1, 1856. By WILLIAM W. STORY. BOSton. 1856.

If the politics of this country, as well foreign as domestic, do not fall into inextricable confusion,- if we can go on quietly for a few years, without a civil war, a separation of the States, or an exhausting contest with any other nation,it is manifest to every person of common understanding, that a career of brilliancy in almost every department of human life is possible for us, and that our advance in what is commonly called civilization may be faster and farther than that of any other people. It is manifest that we are not likely to be favorites with any of the nationalities with which we claim kindred. If we had remained, for the most part, of homoge

neous descent, it is very possible that we should have retained some place in the cool regard of those who represent our ancestry. But we have lost, by our rebellious temper, (which, by the way, was no unimportant part of our inheritance,) the good-will of our parent; and have not been fortunate enough to acquire any really very deep sympathy from any other people. The rest of the world look with astonishment, sometimes, at our free speaking, prompt action, and bold assumptions; and when particularly pleased with anything we may have done, they pat us' on the back, tell us to be good boys, and we shall be able, by and by, to be and to do something worthy of the great European blood which flows in our veins. Perhaps we shall, — perhaps, too, the time will come when it will be the boast of a European nation that they can prove that some of their blood is in us, and shows itself in our character.

But it is not worth our while to boast in anticipation. It may, however, be excusable, if we refer to some of the grounds we have for hopefulness in the experience of the past; if we attempt to show that it is not all boasting on our side, but that we really have done some things, and that it is the doing of them, and not the mere talking about them, which makes us hopeful, and, if you please, confident and boastful. Of the mode in which we achieved our political independence nothing need be said, as the world has seen fit to acknowledge pretty generally that we were bold and persevering, as well as fortunate; but it is worth while to mention, that after achieving independence, we set men an example, in establishing a Constitution, the first written one on record, which has been feebly imitated, but never equalled, by other nations; something like which has been tried without success elsewhere, but which here grows stronger with time, and seems destined to last some time longer.

This is a peculiarity worth remembering. Other men, other nations, have fought for freedom from foreign yokes, and have gained it; but where else is the people that has established a complicated system of political arrangements, powers, and duties, and has maintained it with success, under circumstances of increasing difficulty? Others have tried the operation, NO. 172.

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like the Spanish colonies in South America; but with what results? Some of them are imperial governments, with as little resemblance to republican institutions as ever; and none of them have made any approach, in reality, to our constitutions and practices. If we had done nothing else, we might be pardoned, perhaps, for estimating ourselves as of some rank in the scale of nations.

If, in like manner, we have availed ourselves of our oppor tunities to attain results which are honorable in other departments of life, we should claim our position, and do ourselves justice. Many are ready to exclaim, that we do ourselves more than justice, and it is very likely that injudicious people among us do; but let us try that hard task of doing simple justice, nothing more, nothing less, and see what will be the issue. If we can show honorable products in literature and art, and progress in many important regards, it may afford ground of hope that we shall go on, in still wider and more conspicuous fields, till we shall claim and receive the acknowledgments of others, which are gratifying because it is so difficult to obtain them. Without attempting to enumerate all those who have deserved well of their country, it will not be difficult to select names enough of men from our own vicinity, or who, at least, are well known here, to justify our pretension to stand respectably among the nations of the world; and if others will follow our example, and exhibit claims which are, or should be, recognized, we shall soon find the justice of the position to which we think we have a right, and receive acknowledgments, which, if ever given now, are given so grudgingly, and with such qualifications, that they excite no pleasure, but rather a strong sense of the unfairness of the critics, whether foreign or domestic.

While we have poets like Bryant, Longfellow, and Dana to appeal to, we need not fear to challenge the living literature of the world in that department. No, challenge is not the proper word, we are content to take the place which will be assigned to us by the impartial judgment of mankind. In every quarter of the country there are names which have not yet attained the extended renown of these, but which, if they

were as widely known, would be highly prized. Such we have among us, and such are scattered in other places. At all events, we rejoice in one man of business, who, if he gave a little more time to poetry, would stand by the side of those we have named in the judgment of all, as he actually does in the estimate of those who judge of poetry for themselves, without requiring the major vote of all mankind. Need we name Sprague to any Bostonian as one who was born to be a poet, and who has been constrained to a profession which seems, by some strange destiny, to be associated with poetry in both hemispheres ? What has money-dealing to do with song, that two of the best poets of the age, in the same language, but in different countries, should be members of that most prosaic of professions, and unsympathetic of occupations? Who ever before thought that the soul of a banker could be warmed by anything but profit, or could work up a horror out of anything but loss? Yet inspiration is irresistible, and both British and Americans will like each other the better for the charming productions of men who are poets by instinct and bankers by profession.

In prose composition of a high order we are not absolutely deficient. We have three scholars who have distinguished themselves by historical productions of eminent merit, and who are acknowledged, not merely by ourselves, but by the literary world, to take rank with the leading historians of the age; namely, Prescott, Sparks, and Bancroft.

In the glorious art of sculpture we have again three contemporaries, in whose powers and whose fame any country might justly feel a proud confidence, resting not upon assumed future success, but upon achieved renown. We refer to Crawford, Powers, and our own townsman, Greenough. We speak of the living, but let us not forget the dead. The success which was attained by the brother of Mr. Greenough may well stimulate him, and the fame of both will be an inheritance which their country, as well as their family, will fondly cherish. Sculpture is sometimes said to be the most difficult of the arts; and if we judge by the rarity of success in it during the entire history of the world, we shall suspect, at least, that the remark is just. Certain it is that it has flour