my position, and not all your fury shall drive me from it. Be it recollected, however, that I speak of women in general, and not of those splendid exceptions which, I shall not deny, may be occasionally met with. Neither would I go the length of Diogenes, who, when he saw a woman hanging upon a tree, sarcastically observed, that it was the best bearing tree he had ever seen. On the contrary, I am more inclined to agree with Menander, when he says Taμeo ayers Yevāla yun,—a noble minded woman is the very exchequer of virtue. The question is, where are those exchequers to be found? That they do exist is indisputable; but as they are the richest, so they are the rarest jewels in the cabinet of Nature. The habits, the education, the prejudices, the desires, the fears, the hopes, the very physical constitution, of by far the greater proportion of the species, preclude the possibility of their ever becoming companions worthy of a man who has properly cultivated his intellectual capacities, and raised his mind to that standard which it is always capable of attaining. I know that I shall be asked what I mean by "companions worthy of a man ;" and all the train of domestic duties, all the little comforts and elegancies of life, which, in their aggregate, form so essential a part of happiness, will be pointed out to me as the exclusive department and work of woman. And

what then? Granting the argument its full weight, to what conclusion does it bring us? Is it indeed all that can be said for the sex, that they possess the instinct common to the female of every description of animal, -a wish, namely, to make their own habitations as snug as possible, and to secure food and safety for themselves and offspring? What else does this declamation about domestic happiness mean? A man marries, and he finds that his breakfast, dinner, and supper, are prepared at more regular hours, and in a style of superior excellence. His coffee is clearer, his mutton is juicier, and his salmon is more delicately broiled. His clothes, too, are always in good repair, and his whole exterior assumes a more orderly and pleasing

aspect. Then come his children, all of whom are nursed, and dressed, and washed, to admiration. The whole economy of his household goes on like clockwork, and every one declares that he is one of the luckiest beings in the four quarters of the earth, for he has such a wife! Now, there can be no doubt that all this is very agreeable; but does the husband, blessed with so enviable a partner, obtain, after all, a "Roland for his Oliver?" All the weightier cares of the establishment devolve upon him; he it is who must procure the raw material-money-which his wife converts into those necessaries already enumerated; he it is who must bear the brunt of hard contact with the world, who must mingle in the bustle of life, and look to nothing but his own exertions for success; he it is who must direct and form the minds of his offspring, and who, having superintended the long course of their education, must introduce them to the world in those capacities in which they seem best calculated to shine. In all these matters his wife is of but little use, nay, is only too often a hindrance. And that he is himself sensible of this truth, the fact sufficiently testifies. Who is there among a thousand who looks to his wife as the sole-I may even say the chief source of his felicity? What man, upon whom nature and cultivation have bestowed an ardent spirit, an enlightened mind, a warm imagination, a heart of sensibility, and a virtuous ambition,-what man like this who does not find it necessary to wander far from home, in order to gratify the noblest aspirations of his genius? He must gain glory on the field of battle, he must stand first in the senate of his country,―he must climb the steep of Parnassus, or he must wander among the groves of Academus. If his acquirements are less numerous, and his ambition, in consequence, less lofty, still the demestic circle is too narrow. He must amass wealth; he must visit foreign lands; he must become a prophet in his own country-a councillor and potentate in his own town.

These are remarks which the immense majority of married men feel to be truc, whether they will ac

placed in the balance with the love of such a heart as her's.

knowledge it or not. With a very few exceptions, they apply alike to all, even those who are esteemed the most fortunate in their matrimonial connections. As to those women whose temper and propensities render them scarcely fit for society, and who yet contrive to win the affections of some fond fool, an ancient divine has well compared them to a grave; for, as every grave has its hic jacet, so, when you link yourself to such a woman, hic jacet, you may write, the wisdom of Solomon-hic jacet the valour of David-hic jacet the strength of Sampson.

With these facts ever before us, surely there is but little romance in the notion that love-such love, I mean, as alone deserves the namepure, changeless, and undying can ever become a commodity much known in the world; till the mind of woman, susceptible, perhaps, of still greater advancement than that of man, shall be made to undergo a training in every respect different from that which seems to be at present established. When, boldly asserting the innate strength of her intellect and powers of native feeling, she has broken through the trammels in which policy and prejudice have so long involved her, and given to herself thoughts, and sentiments, and wishes, and opinions, more congenial to what are entertained by those who arrogate to themselves the title of "lords of the creation," then, and not till then, will the springs of genuine, and, comparatively, more than mortal happiness be opened. Then will woman cease to be the plaything of an hour, -the dancing, singing, or talking puppet, with which man condescends to while away a portion of his useless time. Then will the fashionable drawing-room, the glittering assembly, aye, even the noisy concert, lose their charms. Then will the insipid, frivolous, heartless tattle, that comes flowing out in such incessant streams from the fairest lips in the universe, be heard no longer. Then, at last, will woman prove that she has a soul; and man, feeling and rejoicing in her celestial influence, will look upon all other possessions as contemptible and worthless, when

Alas! this is a consummation as yet far off, but there is still one consolation remaining. There are even now in the world beings such as those to whom I allude. It has, indeed, been said, that all women know more of love than man. This, from the reasons I have adduced, is evidently impossible. Women, it is true, from the very imbecility of their minds, easily become attached; but is attachment synonymous with love-the sublimest passion of our nature the only one which makes us independent of all the world, and lifts us, as it were, out of the sphere of mortality? But the exceptions to which I have alluded seem to justify what I have said of the capabilities of the female intellect, and the intensity with which the sex may feel. Such of the sex as circumstances have happily enabled to meet man upon his own ground, to encounter him with his own weapons, have uniformly equalled, if not excelled him. There is a superior delicacy in the female mind, consequent, probably, upon the greater delicacy of her body, which would seem to fit her for appreciating, (cœteris paribus,) even more than man, all the finer impulses of love. Sappho's odes, is AQgodiny, and iis xogny, or έταιραν, are themselves worth all that either Anacreon or Ovid have written on the same subjects. In like manner, Madame De Stael's Corinne, for depth of profound feeling, and pure, unalloyed passion, excels immeasurably Rousseau's boasted Heloise. Our own Mrs Hemmans, too, has infused into her poetry a chaste beauty, a genuine pathos, and a richness of sentiment, which Moore himself has at least never surpassed. I could mention another authoress, no less deservedly celebrated; but the praise which has been already heaped upon her makes me tremble for her future fame. If she can soar above it uninjured, her own immortality is secured, and, what is of far greater consequence, the flowery garland of glory will be for her devoid of thorns. That such may be the case is the ardent prayer of one who, though he knows her

only in her works, and will, in all probability, never know her other wise, will yet never cease to esteem, with, perhaps, a too romantic enthusiasm, the name and productions of L. E. L.

I must now bring these wandering lucubrations to a close. I have spent many of the best years of my life as a lover, but I have already said, that I now feel that I never really loved. There are times when these reflections make me smile, and others when they prompt me rather to weep. I have had thoughts of giving notice, by public advertisement, that I have a heart either to sell or let, and that entrance may be had immediately. But hearts are so frequently sold now-a-days, that I begin to think there would be no bidders for mine. This consideration drives me to a more serious view of the subject; and I sigh to think that the brightest of all dreams-the dream of youthshould be passing over without having been gladdened by those rays which shine but once, and whose radiance is remembered for ever. Spring without flowers would be a season more melancholy than even Winter itself; and must not the spring-time of life be melancholy, too, if it is wasted in a search after that which cannot be found? Is love, indeed, the beau-ideal of the poet's fancy? Is it vain to look for it in real life? Is it like the fabled

A

Asphodel, a plant that blossoms only in Elysium? Or has it been-may it be found in the world? Is it within the compass of human possibility that the bliss which it bestows may be gained, and yet is all the earth' deprived of it? and can the circumstances which contribute to its formation never be all assembled together? Oh! surely, surely there are hearts which would understand each other; and yet chance, space, human nature, and the arbitrary laws of society, irremediably separate those who would have loved through life and death; and the same omnipotent causes link your existence with one who either does not understand you, or who is unworthy of your affections! It is this that makes me sad. I feel that I am capable of loving, and not altogether unworthy of being beloved. But years roll on, and I am still alone; there are none near me whose minds assimilate with my own, and if

"There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told,

When two that are knit in one heaven

ly tie,

With heart never changing, and brow never cold,

Love on through all ills, and love on till they die,"

it is a bliss which I, at least, seem never destined to know.

H. G. B.

Hadde crossedde hys launce ynne mymikke fyghte,

And dancedde ynne ladys bowrs. Botte vainlie freendschyppes serchinge eie,

Corss afterre corss turnedde ore; None couthe the mannlie lookis descrie, Whyche Ryal Harrold bore.

And muste the warriour tomblesse lie,
Onne thys hys latest feeld?
Can none devyse a means wherebie
Hys corss maie bee reveeledde ?

"Yes, whatte evenne freendschyppe failes toe fynde,

Love's keene glaunce can dyscover ; Go, bringe Elgiva toe the feeld, Toe seeke hyr lyflesse lover. "The swanne-neckedde mayde, forr soe the fayr

Stille Harrold lovedde toe name; And oh, ytts smooth, softe, dazzlynge arche,

The cygnett's well myghte schame.

"Those eyes thatte onne hym stille were turnedde,

As flowers unto the skie,
Alone can telle hym fromme the deid
Thatte strowne soe thycklie lie."

Weepynge, thatte mayden sought the feeld,

And shudderredde ore the deid; And as eche myrk face was reveelde,

She schooke wythe doubte and dreid.

Botte as fromme corss to corss she passedde,

Norr yett the kynge descryde ; A strugglinge hope arose atte laste,

Thatte Harrold hadde nott dyde.

Tylle stretchedde uppone a Normanne knyghte,

As pillowedde toe hys reste, Wythe woundes and gore dysfiguredde quyte,

And glaive alle firmlie pressede

Ynne hys red ryghte hand, she behelde The loser of the stryfe;

The fountyn whence hyr joye hadde welledde,

Hyr summe of love and lyfe.