those of the poet we are about to name awaken that of pleasure of pleasure in its best, its sweetest, its holiest form; for, who can dwell on the poetry of Barry Cornwall-who can hear the pure yet passionate breathings of his lute of love-without a thrill of intense delight? His images of Love are all chaste as an infant's dream -his descriptions of the gentle yet mighty tyrant that reigns over the feeble and the strong, are such as virgin eyes may read, and virgin hearts, in their first bloom of innocence, may remember, without one self-reproving blush; for it is a love not lighted by the brightness of an eye-beam, or the witchery of a smile, but kindled on Virtue's own fair shrine-a love that is sublimated, and refined from every base, sensual, and selfish admixturea courageous, a self-denying, and life enduring love-a love that will bear all things, sacrifice all things, and be faithful, even unto the death.

It is with no tame feelings of exultation that we now turn our attention to the female talent of our own age and country.-A new era has dawned upon us—a bright era of female cultivation-of female excellence. The time has gone by, when we were nauseated with puling Elegies on Dead Lap-dogs, and silly Lamentations on a Lover's Absence. In the march of mindthe race of greatness-WOMAN has not been left behind. She has asserted her claim-a claim that has been felt and acknowledged-to a place amongst the illustrious of the land, the noble and the powerful of spirit.

At the head of these fair aspirants to fame, we behold HEMANS-true child of genius and taste, of pathos and power! In Her, we see and adore the rare unionhow seldom found!-of masculine strength of thought

with feminine sweetness and sensibility. Pure and bright as the heaven whence she derives her inspiration, her magic page tells us of all things dear and holy; and, while we read, we are tempted to regard its author as "the connecting link between Woman and Angel!"

And then we have that young wonder in the fairy` land of enchantment, L. E. L.* whose Improvisatrice, and Troubadour, proving the tenderness, the singleness, the depth of woman's love, may be said to breathe perfume, and to distil balm. They are indeed rich and exquisite productions.

The names of Baillie, Opie, &c. are names of no slight renown; and, not "WASTING their sweetness on the desert air," but FLOURISHING in the delightful sunshine of domestic life, we know of others-of one in particular, whose full, deep, and glowing strains anonymously enrich our volume-who might vie with the proudest-ay, with Mrs. Hemans herself!

What is to be said of the numerous yet-remaining host of Britain's contemporary bards-of Southey, Wordsworth, Scott, Rogers, Croly, Sotheby, Milman, Hamliton, Hervey, Alaric Watts, Bird, Wiffen, Neele, &c.? Alas! we have room only to mention their names -but their names alone, awakening thoughts of all that can "soothe, or charm, or elevate the soul," shed lustre upon an age the fairest, the brightest, the most glorious of our annals!

Miss Landon.