but for the true and brave that sleep in its bosom. The bleak arrival of the New-England Pilgrims, and the evening devotion of the Italian peasant-girl, are equally consecrated by her muse. Where there is profound love, exalted patriotism, and "a faith touching all things with hues of Heaven,"-there she rejoiced to expatiate. Fair as Elysium appeared to her fancy, she celebrates its splendour only to reproach its rejection of the lowly and the loved;

For the most loved are they,

Of whom Fame speaks not with her clarion voice
In regal halls! the shades o'erhung their way,
The vale with its deep fountain is their choice,
And gentle hearts rejoice

Around their steps! till silently they die,
As a stream shrinks from summer's burning eye.
And the world knows not then,

Not then, nor ever, what pure thoughts are fled!
Yet these are they that on the souls of men
Come back, when night her folding veil hath spread,
The long remembered dead!

But not with thee might aught save glory dwell-
Fade, fade away, thou shore of Asphodel!

It was the opinion of Dr. Spurzheim, an accurate and benevolent observer of life, that suffering was essential to the rich development of female character. It is interesting to trace the influence of disappointment and trial in deepening and exalting the poetry of Mrs. Hemans. From the sentimental character of her muse, results the sameness of which some readers complain in perusing her works. This apparent monotony only strikes us when we attempt to read them consecutively. But such is not the manner in which we should treat a poetess who so exclusively addresses our feelings. Like Petrarch's sonnets, her productions delight most when separately enjoyed. Her careful study of poetry as an art, and her truly

conscientious care in choosing her language and forming her verse, could not, even if it were desirable, prevent the formation of a certain style. It is obvious, also, that her efforts are unequal. The gems, however, are more profusely scattered, than through the same amount of writing by almost any other modern poet. The department of her muse was a high and sacred one. The path she pursued was one especially heroic, inasmuch as her efforts imply the exertion of great enthusiasm. Such lyrics as we love in her pages, are "fresh from the fount of feeling." They have stirred the blood of thousands. They have kindled innumerable hearts on both sides of the sea. They have strewn imperishable flowers around the homes and graves of two nations. They lift the thoughts, like an organ's peal, to a "better land," and quicken the purest sympathies of the soul into a truer life and more poetic beauty.

The taste of Mrs. Hemans was singularly elegant. She delighted in the gorgeous and imposing. There is a remarkable fondness for splendid combination, warlike pomp, and knightly pageantry betrayed in her writings. Her fancy seems bathed in a Southern atmosphere. We trace her Italian descent in the very flow and imagery of her verse. There is far less of Saxon boldness of design and simplicity of outline, than of the rich colouring and luxuriant grouping of a warmer clime. Akin to this trait was her passion for Art. She used to say that Music was part of her life. In fact, the mind of the poetess was essentially romantic. Her muse was not so easily awakened by the sight of a beautiful object, as by the records of noble adventure. Her interest was chiefly excited by the brave and touching in human experience. Nature attracted her rather from its associations with God and humanity, than on account of its abstract and absolute qualities. This forms the great distinction between

her poetry and that of Wordsworth. In the midst of the fine scenery of Wales, her infant faculties unfolded. There began her acquaintance with life and books. We are told of her great facility in acquiring languages, her relish of Shakspere at the age of six, and her extraordinary memory. It is not difficult to understand how her ardent feelings and rich imagination developed, with peculiar individuality, under such circumstances. Knightly legends, tales of martial enterprise-the poetry of courage and devotion, fascinated her from the first. But when her deeper feelings were called into play, and the latent sensibilities of her nature sprung to conscious action, much of this native romance was transferred to the scenes of real life, and the struggles of the heart.

The earlier and most elaborate of her poems are, in a great measure, experimental. It seems as if a casual fancy for the poetic art gradually matured into a devoted. love. Mrs. Hemens drew her power less from perception than sympathy. Enthusiasm, rather than graphic talent, is displayed in her verse. We shall look in vain for any remarkable pictures of the outward world. Her great aim was not so much to describe as to move. We discover few scenes drawn by her pen, which strike us as wonderfully true to physical fact. She does not make us see so much as feel. Compared with most great poets, she saw but little of the world. The greater part of her life was passed in retirement. Her knowledge of distant lands was derived from books. Hence she makes little pretension to the poetry of observation. Sketches copied directly from the visible universe are rarely encountered. in her works. For such portraiture her mind was not remarkably adapted. There was another process far more congenial to her-the personation of feeling. She loved to sing of inciting events, to contemplate her race in an heroic attitude, to explore the depths of the soul, and

amid the shadows of despair and the tumult of passion, point out some element of love or faith unquenched by the storm. Her strength lay in earnestness of soul. Her best verses glow with emotion. When once truly interested in a subject, she cast over it such an air of feeling that our sympathies are won at once. We cannot but catch the same vivid impression; and if we draw from her pages no great number of definite images, we cannot but imbibe what is more valuable-the warmth and the life of pure, lofty, and earnest emotion.

TENNYSON.

THE impression often given by Tennyson is similar to that derived from the old painters. There is a voluptuous glow in his colouring, warm and rich as that of Titian, yet often subdued by the distinct outline and chastened tone of the Roman school; while the effect of the whole is elevated by the pure expressiveness of Raphael. This is especially observable in all his love-sketches. Indeed we are inclined to believe that Tennyson is a poet chiefly through his sentiment. Not a grace of female character, not a trait of womanly attraction is lost upon him; and yet it is not a Flemish exactitude that charms us in his portraiture; on the contrary, what we recognize most cordially is his vagueness. He does not give the detail of character or person, nor elaborately depict a love-scene, nor minutely analyze a sentiment; but rather affords a few expressive hints that, like pebbles thrown into a calm. stream, create ever-widening circles of association. If such an idea may be allowed, Tennyson deals rather in atmospheres than outlines. The effect of his best descriptive touches is owing chiefly to the collateral sentiment in the light of which they are drawn. In the "Miller's Daughter," for instance :

"The meal-sack on the whitened floor,
The dark round of the dripping wheel,
The very air about the door

Made misty with the floating meal ;"