In the chivalrous ages. Something of this appears in her Songs of the Cid, a character whose noble qualities she admired so much as to be accustomed to call him, familiarly, "her Cid." Schiller, we believe, was her German, and Dante her Italian favorite. In her own language, we are inclined to believe that Shakspeare was, more than any other classic, her text-book. early years, at least, it was so, and pleasant anecdotes are told, still, by those who remember her at that period, of her romantic devotedness to his pages. A favorite apple-tree might still be found, where was established an eyry of hers, resorted to for this purpose, at an age quite juvenile enough to make such a sally excusable, even in the eyes of those who are content to ponder the subtle wisdom of the Bard of Avon in a more commonplace and dignified position. Milton, particularly, we think there is intrinsic evidence to show, she made a study of, at an after period. The German music, also, she was passionately fond of, and, indeed, her enthusiasm for all harmony, was unbounded. We have heard she used to say, it was "a part of her life." She played the piano, and was taught the harp also, by an old Welch minstrel, but generally, did not care to be versed in the science, and was not; so that, although she composed a good deal of music, and, we believe, some portion of that to which her lyrics have been attached, it seemed to come to her by inspiration almost, and was arranged into bars by a friend, more skilful than herself. Some persons may be interested to know, that another of her practices was the keeping a sort of common-place book, upon principles, however, of her own, in which she had extracts of such passages, in all her reading, as particularly arrested her attention. The quantity as well as kind of this literature, which she thus collected, was one of the most striking indications of her habits of intelligent and indefatigable application. Not to dwell on the subject, however, more minutely, what an admirable spectacle do we here behold, of a most sensitive, tender, enthusiastic mind, resolutely bent on a laborious system of self-discipline, such as she knew to be indispensable to that success in her profession, with which alone, an ambition or a conscience like hers could be content. ble ambition it was, and worthy of all imitation as well as praise; an ambition, not so much for present popularity or excitement of any sort, as for the approbation of the good and "the judicious," come when or whence it might; and this most of all, not for its own sake so much as for the evidence it should furnish of pleasure imparted, and benefit rendered to her race. "Not for the brightness of a mortal wreath," was the poet's living as well as her dying Hymn "Not for a place mid kingly minstrels dead, A no Magnificent ambition! Would that all, as capable as she was of filling it, might with the same spirit, set themselves to do so. Those, of course, who can depend less upon native gifts than she could, should depend upon making the best of what they have, still more. A word on another point of importance, as it seems to us, not often sufficiently considered ;-we mean the individual, circumstantial experience of Mrs. Hemans, as a part of her poetical education. This is a delicate subject, we are aware. Most of it was only known, in any practical sense, to herself, and most of the rest of it-such as we allude to-concerns any body else but little, excepting for the illustration it furnishes, in the connection referred to above. It may be proper, however, to advance the opinion, that the poetry of Mrs. Hemans is not only the poetry of a female mind,-for we believe in the doctrine of sexes in minds;-but, that it is much more than this. It is the poetry of a woman—a mature woman; and still farther, of one who had fully and rightly sustained her share, in the active and passive practical duties, the female as well as the human duties, of the She was a wife, a mother, the educator of her own children; and in these capacities, and because of these, as well as out of them, and in others, she had done and suffered her share at least, and her nature was legitimately developed and disclosed in consequence, and in just proportion. Those circumstances, it seems to us, were a most essential part of her poetical education. They enabled her, not only to write more truly, more feelingly, which is the same thing-the particular experience of the characters she lived herself; but to write better upon all subjects, to imbibe them all with a spirit of experience. She was aware of it, we doubt not, and meant that they should be so; and ever rejoiced, it would hardly be too much to say-rejoiced with a more than religious resignation, in some of the trials, that, met as they were meant to be, tended not less to her professional ability, than to her personal improvement at large. sex. We will not follow out this notion with details, which happen to be within our knowledge. This is no place for it. Her works are full of the evidence of it, and not unfrequently in them indeed, are express allusions to the fact. That beautiful piece, the Diver, founded upon suffering what we teach in song"—is an instance in point. the text, which she quotes from Shelley,-" we learn in The "Dying Hymn" is another. The "Vespers of Palermo," might be studied for a complete theory on the subject of that strength, "Deep bedded in our hearts, of which we reck The three leading characteristics, then, of the poetry of Mrs. Hemans, in general terms, are her pure religious enthusiasm; the discipline which made her an accomplished writer (in her own department); and the spirit of vivid reality which her own experience of what she wrote upon, imparted to her style. These remarks, of course, do not equally apply to all her compositions; but in proportion as she so selected her subjects, and so treated them, as to give a natural scope for the applica tion of these qualifications, in that proportion she will be found to have succeeded-as that term is popularly understood, at least in the greatest perfection. Her youthful productions, as might be expected, including, not only her first volume, but a considerable part of those of some maturer years,―most of which have been for merly re-published (or first published) in this country, It will show not only what genius, but what labor can accomplish; the labor of genius-the genius of labor, we might have said. It will show the value of indefatigable not the least;-of a thoroughly informed and justly bal- under the title of "Earlier Poems"-are least character-tory of her poetry, though that itself should be forgotten. ized by the peculiarities we refer to. They exhibit enthusiasm, which was constitutional with her; but it is rather the enthusiasm of youthful genius, than of mature principle. The imagination breaks out also, more unre-literary education, in the widest sense; of self-education strained than afterwards; whether by the taste which study and practice refine, or the chastening experience of external life. Great improvement in all respects, indeed, is observable, as the result of an enlightened and energetic effort to improve; one of the circumstances in Mrs. Hemans' career, as we have noticed it already under another form, most worthy of attention and of praise. In later days, also, she had come to know better what she was fitted to do best. Self-study taught her as much what to endeavor to achieve, as other studies taught her how to achieve it. And she had, for the most part, the self-denial to limit herself within those certain boundaries of her best ascertained abilities. She wasted something, as every body must, in experiments-which it would be no difficult matter to point out; but not so much as most people, who have written as much; and scarcely any thing, after having maturely decided, as she finally did, the strong bias of her mind. It is one of the circumstances, most calculated to aggravate the regret which is felt already, at the loss of one so endeared to the reading public-to aggravate, especially the regret of reflection; and the more so, as we remember the rarity of poetical principle like hers, that just, it would seem, as she had thoroughly matured this self-examination, and satisfactorily shown that she had, (as especially in the scenes and Hymns of life,) she was destined, in the inscrutable wisdom of the Spirit, to whom her harp was freshly consecrated,* to "Sink on the threshold of the sanctuary, Fainting beneath the burden of the day." But she has not lived in vain. It is no sufficient eulogy, if it be a true one, to say of her as has been said, that she wrote no line which, dying, she might wish to blot. That is both a desirable praise, indeed, and a rare one; but only negative, after all, in its popular meaning. The merits of these compositions are positive. They are adapted to promote happiness, to do good; and to accomplish both objects permanently, and by pure means. The benefit derived, and to be derived from them, is, and will be all income, so to speak, "clear gain." No sensibility will be wasted upon unworthy subjects; no interest excited for an unworthy cause; no time or feeling worse than lost, in wading through deserts of pathless abstractions, the metaphysics of morality on one hand, or the more alluring regions, (and the more fatal, in proportion as they are so,) of voluptuous or even gratuitous excitement of any sort, on the other. Many a time has the light of genius, in our day, proved but a "Jack-ofthe-lantern," in a land of bogs. No safeguard, even to its owner has it been; far less "a torch-light for the race"-a light for storm and shade, so fed within, indeed, "That passing storms have only fanned the fire, Which pierced them still with its triumphal spire." With the bright wine at nation's feast, went round: Their echoes midst the mountains; They of the daring thought!- She knew the claims of these, but she thought also, of "the nameless martyrs:" "Where sleep they, Earth?" she asks: No-not a tree the record bears Of their deep thought and lonely prayers." READ not to contradict and confute, but to weigh and consider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be digested; that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few to be read wholly A lesson, too, will remain to be gathered from the his and with diligence and attention. Reading maketh a full * Devotional Sonnets. † Prayer of a lonely student. man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact man -Lord Bacon. Original. THE ORIGIN OF THE EARTH. Trembling in heart, at what their lips deny, The Being whom they flout at and defy. I SING earth's origin-a vestal theme, Of which few ancient bards presumed to dream; Both say-from nothing, nothing can proceed. But this is innocent, compared with those Pernicious upas brambles, which oppose The sovereignty of Heaven, those germs of hell, Which human nature knew not till it fell. For there 'tis thus recorded in the Word, The earth became corrupt before the Lord, And fill'd with violence and wicked ways; And there were giants, also, in those days, For impious atheists first existed then, Those impious demons in the shape of men, Who dared assault Jehovah on his throne, As ancient poets have, in legends shown; It is no fable what these legends tell, Of Jove assailed by giants-fiends of hell, But a prediction of that holy war Which wrought redemption-when the Saviour Satan, as lightning, fall from heaven," for then The powers of darkness lost ther hold on men, And human freedom was at last restored; For man could be converted to the Lord. But a new race of Titans, in our day, Assail high Heaven in a more covert way, And, by condemning marriage, clearly show That they, at virtue, aim the deadliest blow, And, in the specious name of science, are Recruiting levies for the unholy war; Those prisoners of Satan's restless host, Self-rendered illegitimates, who boast They have no Father, yet, with craven dread, Shrink from his justice on a dying bed; Moral abortions from the womb of chance, In faith and love, in word and deed, the same; In the beginning, when the Eternal One To the same source whence its subsistence flows. Huge, shapeless masses, in their first escape,¶ Each without form, till nourished into shape; Devoid of motion, on Sol's verge they pressed, All fondly clinging round the parent's breast; Who, presently expanding all his pores, Opened, for egress into space, the doors, Through which, swift, fiery emanations found A passage out, and wheeled the planets round; This first impetus to his offspring given, Attends them still through all the vault of heaven. Hence ether rose-widely diffused around About the sun, throughout the arch profound; A subtle fluid, clear transparent sea, ** In which the planets floated, light and free; Our earth was, for a while, content to run, 'Tis thus the solar system sprang to life, But think not vainly that the human race Dream not that those bright orbs were set on high Where heaven-born Charity exerts her powers- The power which made, and still supports their frame. O Conviction seals thy lips-presume no more! The wild dreams of Epicurus. This philosopher taught that the universe consisted of atoms, or puscles of various forms, magnitudes, and weights, which having been dispersed at random, through the immense space, fortuitously concurred into innumerable systems. † But a new race of Titans in our day, Assail high heaven in a more covert way. The wars of the Titans against the gods, are very celebrated in mythology. They were all of a gigantic stature, and endowed with proportionable strength. With no redeeming jewel in the brain. Sweet are th' uses of adversity; Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet, a precious jewel in his head.-SHAKSPEARE. Acording to the opinion of the ancient poet, Hesiod, Pandora was the first mortal female that ever lived. She was made of clay, by Vulcan, at the request of Jupiter, who wished to punish the impiety and an artifice of Prometheus, by giving him a wife. She derived her name, Pandora, from the charms with which the gods endowed her. Jupiter, after this, gave her a beautiful box, which she was ordered to present to the man who married her; and by the commission of the god, Mercury conducted her to Prometheus. The artful mortal was sensible of the deceit, and as he had always distrusted Jupiter, as well as the rest of the Gods, since he had stolen fire away from the sun to animate his man of clay, he sent away Pandora without suffering himself to be captivated with her charms. His brother Epimetheus was not possessed of the same prudence and sagacity. He married Pandora, and when he opened the box, which she presented to him, there issued from it, a multitude of evils and distempers, which dispersed themselves all over the world, and which, from that fatal moment, have never ceased to afflict the human race. Hope was the only one which remained at the bottom of the box. For every being its existence owes To the same source whence its existence flows. In the Swedish philosopher's treatise on the Worship and Love of God, he says, "Every effect is a continuity of causes from the first cause; and the cause by which any thing subsists, is continued to the cause by which it exists, since subsistence is a kind of perpetual existence."-L. & W. of God, No. 7. Hug shapeless masses, in heir first escape ** And swift projected in a spiral course. When these masses were now carried round the sun, into their first periods, and by hasty and short circuits, accomplished their annual spaces, according to the perpetual gyrations of the heavenly bodies, in the manner of a running spiral or winding line, they also cast themselves outward, into new circumferences; and thus, by excursions resembling a spiral, removed themselves from the centre, and at the same time, from the very heated bosom of their parent, but slowly, and by degrees; thus being, as it were, weaned, they began to move in another direction.-L. & W. of God, No. 11 & 12. And hence the shortness of its early years Its years, at first, if measured by the periods of our time, would scarcely equal as many months.-L. & W. of God, No. 11. Original. THE FUNERAL OF A MOTH. A CHILD'S VISION. BY MRS. SEBA SMITH. A LITTLE child had been amusing itself at the feet of its mother, kicking and rolling about, and playing all sorts of antics, when it espied a moth disengage itself from the fibres of the carpet, and poise its small wing with a short, wavering flight. The child stopped its noisy song, rolled over upon all fours, and commenced a scramble for the poor insect, slapping its clumsy hand upon the carpet in the hope of striking it down. It did so at last-the moth fell upon its side, quivered slightly, and was still. The child would have taken it in his hand, but suddenly there was a sound as of innumerable tiny bells tolling, and very low, sad music. He laid his cheek upon his arm, the bright curls falling all about the carpet, and his little feet stretched out, and crossed one over the other, the disarranged tunic revealing, liberally, his round white limbs, indolently exposed. Thus the child lay, listening to the music, that seemed to say "Alas, for death is amongst us." It could not tell what was meant, but it saw that the beautiful moth stirred not, and it felt something very sad must have happened. At length a large black beetle was seen to move slowly along, and look at the little insect, and then, while the eyes of the child were fixed intently to see what would come of it, the beetle seemed a little small old woman, much wrinkled, and dressed in black. She moved about quite briskly, and the child could scarce forbear a smile to see such an alert, diminutive thing. His mother's little gold thimble had fallen from her basket, and now stood upon the carpet beside the dead moth, and the child observed that the little woman in black was not as tall as the thimble. She took a robe, made of the fibres of a rose-leaf, from her pocket, and shrouded the moth, singing all the time, "Alas, for the gladsome wing Shall never more be spreadWhen cheerful voices ring, They may not wake the dead. Then a grasshopper came in with a slow, sepulchral tread, bearing upon his thigh the severed pericarp of the balsam, (Impatians,) lined with gossamer, and having tassels hanging from the pall. He had no sooner approached the dead moth, than he appeared a grave and venerable undertaker, bearing the coffin, into which he and the little old woman put the poor insect, and covered it with the pall of gossamer, singing, all the time, in a sweet, sad voice. Then an immense procession of moths, (they were of that kind called death's head, undoubtedly a class designed to officiate exclusively at funerals,) followed the undertaker as he bore out the body-but as they moved on, they were little men and women, dressed in drab, each with a sad, pale face, and now and then one of the younger, with a handkerchief pressed to the eyes; while all sang in chorus the following words "Rest thee, rest thee, blighted one, death meant. The child heard the hum of their voices when he had ceased to distinguish the words. Then he arose, and laying his head upon his mother's lap, wept bitterly, telling her what he had heard and seen, and asking what She talked long upon the sad but pleasant subject, telling of that land where death is not, till the heart of the little child grew joyous within him, and he called that land his home. Had the child been less young, or less innocent, the visions of the moth's funeral had not been vouchsafed. But he never, from that time, wantonly destroyed the humblest creature made by the wisdom, the goodness, and love of our Heavenly Father. He saw there was room enough in the great world, and in the pleasant sunshine, for him and them; and he remembered that a better land had been promised to man only; therefore he would not abridge the few days of happiness granted the little insect. The child daily grew gentle and loving, for the exercise of kindness, even in one simple instance, had fixed the principle in his young heart, till it expanded so that it embraced all the creatures made by our great and good Parent. It was thus that he learned, not only to love worthily the good and loving, but even those in whom the image of God, stamped upon the human soul, had become marred and effaced by sin. He loved, and prayed even for these, and the blessedness of such prayers returned upon his own head. Thus did the child learn a lesson of wisdom, and of goodness, from the Funeral of the Moth. Original. SONNET. BY JAMES F. OTIS. "Forth in the flowery spring Seem vocal with the inspiring song that yields Here will I stop-and while, bencath my feet, |