whose genius, as displayed in her works, appears competent to the production of an Epic poem. Would that she had attempted this.

In the portraiture of female characters, and the exhibition of feminine virtues, she is very happy; and we regret that in the limited space to which our selections must be confined, we cannot introduce those beautiful creations of her fancy, Jane de Montfort, Valeria and Helen.

Miss Baillie began her literary career in early life, and has pursued it with unremitted ardor. She bestows great care on the revision of her productions, thus setting an excellent example of patience and industry to her sex. She is now no longer young, but is still actively engaged in her literary pursuits. During the past year, she has given to the world another volume of "Plays on the Passions," which is highly commended by the English critics.

Respecting the private character of this extraordinary woman, we have but few incidents to communicate. The sacred cabinet of domestic life may not be opened, till death has sealed the record completed. She is sister of the celebrated Dr. Baillie, and has passed much of her time in his family. Her personal appearance is thus described by an American gentleman, who visited her in, '27:

"Joanna Baillie is a small woman, very erect, easy and natural, with a remarkable fine face. In manner she is self-possessed, and very gentle; you never think of her age, and only wonder, after you have come away, how it should happen that you did not think of it. I was told by those who knew her that she was over seventy- yet I could hardly believe them. She appeared about 55 or 60. Her gray hair was parted carefully and smoothly over her forehead, and her general air was that of something very intelligent, tranquil, spiritualized and quakerish. I thought her very amiable, and in the overflowing of her affectionate veneration for her brother, Dr. Baillie, I detected the germ of that extraordinary tragedy, de Montfort."

SKETCHES FROM THE LEGEND OF LADY GRISELD BAILLIE.

WHEN, sapient, dauntless, strong heroic man,
Our busy thoughts thy noble nature scan,

Whose active mind, its hidden cell within,

Frames that from which the mightiest works begin;

Whose secret thoughts are light to ages lending,

Whose potent arm is right and life defending

For helpless thousands, all on one high soul depending:We pause delighted with the fair survey,

And haply in our wistful musings say,

What mate to match this noble work of heaven,

Hath the all wise and mighty Master given?

One gifted like himself, whose head devises

High things, whose soul at sound of battle rises;

Who with glaiv'd hand will thro' armed squadrons ride,

And, death confronting, combat by his side;

Will share with equal wisdom grave debate,
And all the cares of chieftain, kingly state?
Ay, such, I trow, in female form hath been
Of olden times, and may again be seen,
When cares of empire, or strong impulse swell
The generous breast, and to high deeds impel;
For who can these as meaner times upbraid,
Who think of Saragossa's valiant maid?
But she of gentle nature, softer, dearer,
Of daily life the active kindly cheerer;
With generous bosom, age, or childhood shielding,
And in the storms of life tho' moved, unyielding;
Strength in her gentleness, hope in her sorrow,
Whose darkest hours some ray of brightness borrow
From better days to come, whose meek devotion

Calms every wayward passion's wild commotion;
In want and suffering, soothing, useful, sprightly,
Bearing the press of evil hap so lightly,

Till evil's self seems its strong hold betraying
To the sweet witch'ry of such winsome playing;
Bold from affection, if by nature fearful,

With varying brow, sad, tender, anxious, cheerful, -
This is meet partner for the loftiest mind,

With crown or helmet graced, — yea, this is womankind!

Come ye whose grateful memory retains
Dear recollection of her tender pains,

To whom your oft-conn'd lesson, daily said,
With kiss and cheering praises was repaid;

To gain whose smile, to shun whose mild rebuke,
Your irksome task was learned in silent nook,
Tho' truant thoughts the while, your lot exchanging
With freer elves, were wood and meadow ranging; –
And ye, who best the faithful virtues know,
Of a link'd partner, tried in weal and woe,
Like the slight willow, now aloft, now bending,
But, still unbroken, with the blast contending,
Whose very look call'd virtuous vigor forth,
Compelling you to match her noble worth; -
And ye who in a sister's modest praise,
Feel manly pride, and think of other days,
Pleased that the playmate of your native home
Hath in her prime an honored name become;
And ye, who in a duteous child have known
A daughter, help-mate, sister, blent in one,
From whose dear hand which to no hireling leaves
Its task of love, your age sweet aid receives;
Who reckless marks youths' waning faded hue,
And thinks her bloom well spent, when spent for you;-
Come all, whose thoughts such dear remembrance bear,
And to my short and faithful lay give ear.

THE SISTER.

THERE is a sight all hearts beguiling —
A youthful mother to her infant smiling,
Who with spread arms and dancing feet,
And cooing voice, returns its answer sweet.
Who does not love to see the grandame mild,
Lesson with yearning looks the list'ning child?
But 'tis a thing of saintlier nature,

Amidst her friends of pigmy stature,
To see the maid in youth's fair bloom,
A guardian sister's charge assume,
And, like a touch of angel's bliss
Receive from each its grateful kiss.

To see them, when their hour of love is past,
Aside their grave demeanor cast;

With her in mimic war they wrestle;
Beneath her twisted robe they nestle ;
Upon her glowing cheek they revel,
Low bended to their tiny level;
While oft, her lovely neck bestriding,
Crows some arch imp, like huntsman riding.
This is a sight the coldest heart may feel,

To make down rugged cheeks the kindly tear to steal.

*

THE WIFE.

THEIR long-tried faith in honor plighted,
They were a pair by heaven united,
Whose wedded love, thro' lengthened years,

The trace of early fondness wears.

Her heart first guessed his doubtful choice,
Her ear first caught his distant voice,
And from afar her wistful eye

Would first his graceful form descry.

Even when he hied him forth to meet
The open air in lawn or street,

She to her casement went,

And after him, with smile so sweet,
Her look of blessing sent.

The heart's affection-secret thing!
Is like the cleft-rock's ceaseless spring,
Which free and independent flows
Of summer rains or winter snows..
The fox-glove from its side may fall,

The heath-bloom fade, or moss flower white,
But still its runlet, bright tho' small,
Will issue sweetly to the light.

WITH her and her good lord, who still
Sweet union held of mated will,

Years passed away with lightsome speed;

But oh! their bands of bliss at length were riven, And she was clothed in widow's sable weed, Submitting to the will of Heaven.

And then a prosperous race of children good
And tender, round their noble mother stood,
And she the while, cheered with their pious love,
Waited her welcome summons from above.
But whatsoe'er the weal or woe

That Heaven across her lot might throw,
Full well her Christian spirit knew
Its path of virtue straight and true.
Good, tender, generous, firm, and sage,
Through grief and gladness, shade and sheen,
As fortune changed life's motley scene,
Thus passed she on to reverend age,
And when the heavenly summons came,