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The Poetry of Mrs. Hemans.

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being by chance present at an Auto de fe, he beholds an early friend perishing for the profession of true christianity, and the shock of the discovery awakens him at once to the falsity of Catholic pretensions.

For the strong spirit will at times awake,
Piercing the mists which wrap her clay abode;
And born of them, she may not always take
Earth's accents for the oracles of God.

The incident which is there made the means of shaking off the bonds of Catholicism from one of its before undoubting adherents, is one which actually happened in the persecutions of the 16th century. A priest of the name of Gonzalez, had won over as proselytes to the protestant faith, among others, his two sisters. They were all three arrested and offered their pardon, only upon abjuring their "heresy." The priest, as was expected, refused. Every artifice was made use of to persuade the minds of his sisters to a different result; but their reply was marked with the characteristic trustfulness of woman:-"We will die in the faith of our brother-he is too wise to be wrong, and too good to deceive us." The description of the death, by martyrdom, of these young and trusting ones, presents a series of striking poetical pictures.

The youngest dies ere she has reached the scene of martyrdom, crushed beneath the sudden storm of emotion which swept forward so powerfully; and her death is thus described

It seem'd as if a reed so slight and weak

Must, in the rending storm not quiver only-break!

And thus it was-the young cheek flush'd and faded,
As the swift blood in currents came and went,
And hues of death the marble brow o'ershaded,

And the sunk eye a watery lustre sent

Through its white fluttering lids. Then tremblings pass'd
O'er the frail form, that shook it, as the blast
Shakes the sere leaf, until the spirit rent

Its way to peace-the fearful way unknown

Pale in love's arms she lay-she!-what had lov'd was gone!

Joy for thee, trembler!-thou redeem'd one, joy!
Young dove set free! earth, ashes, soulless clay,
Remain'd for baffled vengeance to destroy;

--Thy chain was riven !-nor hadst thou cast away
Thy hope in thy last hour!

Woman as she is, and religious as is the spirit of the poetry of Mrs. Hemans, it would have been better perhaps for our reputation, in the new character of critic, if we had blamed rather than praised this lady. But unhappily for our reputation, we cannot avoid feeling rather than judging of the value of poetry. Judging by the feelings of our breast, we give the preference to that which animates us with a common feeling with the author. It is the fashion of critics to judge differently, and to determine the relative rank of a writer by the polish of his productions, rather than by his original thought. Guided by this or by some similar rule, the principal reviews have passed over the poetry of every lady, in silence. In this respect, how apposite to them, is the portrait of Addison by Pope, who could

"Damn with faint praise, assent with civil,

And without sneering teach the rest to sneer."

Why, if not from this source, is the poetry of Mrs. Hemans, Miss Landon and Joannie Baille, whose writings are confessedly of a high order, unread— while Leigh Hunt and Barry Cornwall, as well as Shelly and Keats are puffed into a preternatural fame? The prejudices of a former age against the education of females is fast wearing away; but a prejudice still exists— even in the case of females who are gifted with uncommon powers of mind-against their using that education for the improvement of others. The sphere of woman is undoubtedly, in general, a narrow one. It is hers to enliven and bless the domestic circle, to stand by the bedside of sickness, and to alleviate its pangs. But there are other spheres where occasion may demand her presence. It may become duty, rarely it is true, as was done in the Greek Revolution, for the wife to grasp the sword of her dying husband, and to lead on his soldiers to the attack.

There is another source than the prejudice against woman, which tends to create a prejudice against the poetry of Mrs. Hemans. It is, that her poetry is, what the poetry of woman should be-essentially religious. It is vain to deny that the men, whose seal is indispensable to the currency of a work, are totally opposed to works of a religious character; unless they be, like the splendid mausoleum which Milton has reared-gray with the moss of ages. Thus it has fared with the bard, who "rolled his numbers down the tide of Time," to meet with little else than censure. If Pollock, instead of devoting his powers to the service of God, had been the pander of vice; the same herd who are now raising the cry against him, would have fallen down and worshipped him. If a writer at the present day desires fame, it is not by religious writings that he can attain it. But there is perhaps a recompense for this evil. Not a few authors, of which our literature ought to be proud, and of which it will boast when time shall have hallowed them, are cherished in many a family circle, and the sentiments of the writer are treasured in the hearts of fathers and mothers-of brothers and sisters. But much as Mrs. Hemans has had to contend with, there are still many who will long love her poetry for its sweetness and purity.

Her's is a strain to read among the hills,

The old and full of voices, by the source

Of some free stream, whose gladdened presence fills
The solitude with sound-for in its course

Even such is thy deep song, that seems a part
Of those high scenes-a fountain from the heart.

S.

A human soul without education is like marble in the quarry; which shows none of its inherent beauties, until the skill of the polisher fetches out the colors, makes the surface shine, and discovers every ornamental cloud, spot, and vein that runs through the body of it.

The Married Life.

THE MARRIED LIFE.

BY A YOUNG HUSBAND.

SAY, is it true that wild adventures make
The only life of love? Must armored knights,
And castle walls beset with robbers round,
And villains worse than bloodiest robbers are,
And thunderstorms and dangers on the lake,
And fits and faintings, and soft breathing lutes
Trill'd underneath the window late at night,
And similes drawn from the twinkling stars,
And protestations of adoring love,

(Uttered to flesh and blood!) and broken hearts
Mended with smiles full twenty times a day-
Must these, and only these, make up the scene
Where love can live?

I've read a score of books,
That told of love among the mighty Alps,
Where broken necks conspired with broken hearts
To give some interest to a lover's life-

That told of "ladye" loves, who sat around
Th' arena where a dozen mounted knights
Broke spears enough to make a courting fire:
Most interesting work! and well repaid-
The victor carried off his gentle dame;
Most lovely woman, doubtless, who could sit
Quite pleased, and see a skull or two knocked in.
I've read of love among Siberian Wilds--
(It is a plant that grows on burning plains
And frozen snows alike)-I've read of one
Who found a lover in a high raised drift

And thawed him back to life with melting looks.
I've read, by dimming lamp I've 'read-not much-
But yet enough to turn my feeble head.

I thought that common life could never yield
Enough of incident to make me say

"I am in love." New England has no hills
Hallowed with lover's caves-no castles high,
With dungeon towers to shut a pris'ner in
To win her heart. Alas, 'tis common life
That I am doom'd to live: my sun-burnt hands
Can never wield the sword nor break the spear.

But softly! I have known a man who loved

A maiden-not divinely beautiful,
(And yet she seemed to him most wondrous fair,)
He wooed and wedded her. A week passed on,
And then a month: the time had run away
When knights and "ladyes" see their moon go down,
And they were happy still. O, strange it was,

That they, so poor, so far away removed
From fashionable life, should be so blest!

Yes, they were happy; those can testify
Who saw their joyous looks.

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Hatch and produce-three volumes in a month.
O give us leave, prithee, thou gentle Scott,
To hope that we may find some happiness
Among the common ups and downs of life.
I have no horse to ride, nor casque to don,
Nor castle to defend with liveried ranks
Of brave and foolish men, who fight and die
To keep a stolen maiden from her father.
And yet I am happy, and so you may be.
Good Mr. Reader, try it if you doubt-
Make up your mind to live a peasant's life-
Send fiction to the world of shades and take
Reality, and be content and blest.

New York State Journal,

HEAR THE RIGHT SIDE.

To the Editor of the Microcosm :

It is an old remark that our eagerness in repelling a charge is proportioned to its justice; at least that we are but slightly affected by the imputation of a defect from which we are consciously free. If this be true, what is the inference to be drawn from the warmth exhibited by your correspondent's friend, in replying to my animadversions upon the conduct of some of his

sex.

Must it not be that it evinces a lurking consciousness of the truth of my charges? However, I will not retort his sarcastic raillery, but will receive in quiet submission-that is the duty of our sex, is it not? his ironical compliments to my philosophy, pathos and reasonableness. I may as well observe however, en passant, the praise bestowed on me for this latter quality is hardly merited. He speaks of my "requisition always to suppose the conduct of the lady honorable," as "most reasonable." Now I beg leave to say that I made no such requisition. If I had, how would it accord with my admission that ladies are sometimes guilty of coquetry and dissimulation? The sentence stands thus. "He ought to bear his disappointment with philosophy-if he can, and with magnanimity at all events-supposing always that the conduct of the lady has been honorable." Now the word "supposing," I intended should have the force of if, or, in the case that; and that it should have no manner of reference to the rejected suitor; nor was I at all sensible of any ambiguity in the expression until I read the communication of "Incog." And now to return to my starting point, "quiet submission." I would even have consented to be laughed at through a page and a half more, if at the end I could have found any thing of the nature of argument. But in this I was disappointed. Observe that I am now referring not to your correspondent, but to his "friend H," who is marvelously disposed to be witty at my expense, but does not seem equally disposed to be reasonable. After a careful examination of the remarks which he thinks so "worthy of attention," I am unable to find any thing in them, except two assertions, which, whether true or false, are irrelevant to the point in debate; and one or

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two sarcasms, which it is very easy to utter, but which, as all the world knows, prove nothing.

His answer to my first complaint, that gentlemen are too ready to interpret mere friendly regard as a warmer feeling, is, that "this is in effect charging them with weakness, vanity and self-conceit." But how this remark invalidates the charge, I am at a loss to perceive. Does H-, mean to assert that his sex is so absolutely and notoriously free from "weakness, vanity and self-conceit," that any charge against them which even implies these defects, must be false? This may not appear equally incontrovertible to all; and some may even imagine, that a little vanity and self-conceit would be indicated by the assertion. Yet on no other ground can the remark be a refutation of my charge.

In regard to his next observation, that ladies frequently reverse their decisions, I acknowledge the fact, but remark that it does not affect the ground of my complaint, which was that a lady after having given a decided refusal, is often subjected to the pain of repeating it. It is rather hard that because some ladies say No, at first, and Yes, afterwards, others who mean no, when they say it, should be obliged to undergo a continued persecution; not to mention that in most cases where the negative was a sincere one, it is best for both parties that it should not be revoked. Ladies are sometimes induced by importunity to accept a proposal which their hearts would have taught them to decline; and what man of honor or delicacy would desire such constrained vows?

But H. goes on to accuse me of having included all my own sex in a proscription as merciless as that under which I had placed his-asserting that "they are all either coquettes or hypocrites." I have two objections to this interpretation. In the first place, it was the imputation of coquetry, not the crime itself which I stated to be the alternative. In the second place, H. does not allow sufficient latitude of meaning to my remark. No observations on a subject, presenting so many various aspects as society, can possibly be of universal application, and nobody but H. thinks of understanding them in that way. It is enough if they are true in general, and that I maintain to be the case in regard to my complaint. Some of the exceptions would be the case of ladies who do not possess sufficient attractions to become objects of attention to the other sex; or those who are so naturally disposed to conceal their sentiments, that concealment cannot in them be termed hypocrisy ; or those who are so undemonstrative that it would be impossible to accuse them of particular favor towards any individual. Those who are ardent in their feelings and frank in the manifestation of them, are almost sure to incur the charge.

This is the amount of what H. has to say against me, in which, let it be observed, that he has neither proved the non-existence of the evils of which I complain, nor shown any evil which would result from the proposed remedy. Though his remarks were not of the most good-natured character, I can assure him that I "bear no malice." Our sex may be "weak, vain, and selfconceited," but they are not unforgiving-so let's shake hands and part friends. With the sentiments of your correspondent, where he speaks in his own person, I most cordially agree. If any thing in my former communication led to the opinion which he seems to entertain, that I would divorce reason and love, I must have expressed myself ill. So decidedly am I of opinion that

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