THE YOUNG PAINTER.

A TALE.

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BY MRS. JANE L. SWIFT.

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Among the vast number of individuals continually visiting the regions of the old world, how few are prepared by an enlightened education and a cultivated taste, to appreciate its strong claims upon the admiration of the traveler. A love of the beautiful in nature, and a veneration for the ancient in art, may combine to give a glowing interest to each step that is taken upon the soil of older climes; but to minds that feel how much we owe to the early annals of those climes—how the accumulated treasures of historic lore have pointed out the quicksands of legislation—how experience has sounded its alarm from the rocks upon which nation after nation has struck and gone down; to minds that feel how time has traced upon the chart of the world’s destiny a warning record for those that come after—the government and institutions, the splendor and the decay, the rise and the downfall of the countries over which they wander, cannot fail to awaken the deepest interest, and to imbue with the holiness of truth the associations that must continually arise. It is one thing to have read the history of a country—to have a knowledge of its successive kings, emperors, or rulers; to know the results of its convulsions and its battles; to be able to date the events that have crowned with glory or branded with ignominy its name—and it is another thing to have digested the information thus obtained; to have acquired a succinct view of the bearing of social and political institutions upon the genius of the people existing under them; and to have become acquainted with the predominant influences which conducted that country to its ascent, or hastened it to its decline. A noble structure is left for us to gaze upon; a relic of by-gone ages, full of rents and fissures, and bearing upon its time-worn towers the ivy of decay. It speaks to us of the course of empire, of the march of intellect, of the sway of mind, of the abuse of power, of the horrors of war, of the extinction of nations. It stands as a beacon to enlighten the world’s rulers; to teach them that what has been shall be; and to display its warning torch for the Future in the history of the Past.

History is to the mental what Revelation is to the spiritual vision. The former clears away the darkness which rests upon our perceptions with regard to the well-being and destiny of nations; the latter dispels the cloud which hangs over the unevangelized world with regard to the well-being and destiny of man. It does not require a moment’s thought to be convinced, that he who visits classic ground with a mind conversant with and delighting in the glowing pages of ancient lore, will experience an enjoyment tenfold to that of him who finds all things new, and who, content with the attraction of novelty, neither knows nor cares to know of the mighty deeds that have cursed or consecrated its soil. True, there are sunny landscapes smiling for him, and works of art beautiful in their decay around him; but they cannot be to him as familiar things, for he had perchance never heard of their existence until he gazed upon them. The charm of association can beautify and hallow the most barren spot. What may it not do, then, when its golden hue is cast upon the monuments of former greatness—monuments crumbling to their fall, but speaking of a people, and of a grandeur, which centuries ago had passed away.