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Ah! what of good can with a skulking outlaw
In his far wanderings, or his secret haunts,
E'er be? O no! thou shalt not follow me.

Mencia. Good may be found for faithful, virtuous love,
In every spot; and for the wandering outlaw,
The very sweetest nooks o' the earth are his.
And be his passing home the goatherd's shed,
The woodman's branchy hut, or fishers' cove,
Whose pebbly threshold by the rippling tide
Is softly washed, he may contented live,
Ay, thankfully; fed like the fowls of heaven
With daily food sent by a Father's hand.

Ant. Thou shalt not follow me, nor will I fly. Severed from thee I will not live, sweet love; Nor shalt thou be the mate of one disgraced, And by the good disowned. Here I'll remain, And Heaven will work for me a fair deliverance.

DESPAIR.

Henriquez. The morn! and what have I to do with morn?

The reddening sky, the smoking camp, the stir
Of tented sleepers rousing to the call,

The snorting steed, in harness newly dight,
Did please my fancy once. Ay, and the sweetness
Of my still native woods, when through the mist
They showed at early dawn their stately oaks,
Whose darkening forms did gradually appear,
Like slow approaching friends, known doubtfully,
These pleased me once in better days; but now
My very soul within me is abhorrent

Of every pleasant thing; and that which cheers
The stirring soldier or the waking hind,

That which the traveller blesses, and the child

Greets with a shout of joy, as from the door
Of his pent cot he issues to the air,

Does but increase my misery.

I loathe the light of heaven: let the night,
The hideous, unblessed night, close o'er me now,
And close forever!

HANNAH MORE.*

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THE long and brilliant literary career of Mrs. More has closed, and her "Life," and " 'Works, are the invaluable possesion of the Christian public. She needs no eulogism-she has built her own monument!

Probably no woman ever did so much to promote the cause of moral and social improvement, among all classes of people, as this excellent lady has done; certainly no one ever more consistently subserved the best interests of her own sex.

It is not, however, in her poetry that the high character of her mind is displayed to the greatest advantage. She possessed more talent than genius, more judgment than imagination; and though her poetry is always respectable, and in its sentiment elevated, yet it seldom rises to the lofty sublimity which astonishes the reader, as it were, with the opening of a new world of beauty and bold imagery-nor does it exhibit the brilliancy or breathe the pathos which takes captive the heart and fancy. It is good, in every quality, and seldom merits a higher epithet.

But Mrs. More did not make poetry her pursuit. She summoned the muses to her aid, chiefly to promote some useful or benevolent object in which she was

* Mrs. More's writings have been published in a variety of forms. The best American edition is that of the Harpers, comprising her "Life and Correspondence," and all her "Literary Works."

engaged; "The Search after Happiness, " for instance, was written for the benefit of the young ladies at her sister's boarding school; and the "Ballads" and "Tales" to unfold and illustrate religious and moral truths to the poor, ignorant peasantry of her own country.

Many of her poems were written when she was quite young, and to the youthful poetess she will be a safe model to study, because her sentiments are peculiarly calculated to incite a desire for excellence of character, which is far more necessary to female happiness, and much more easily attainable than eminence in poetry.

We place her honored name in our Wreath to be an amulet as well as an ornament; and if it be not properly designated by a flower, it is because it deserves something less perishable-it is the evergreen Pine, the emblem of piety and philosophy, whose leaf time will not have power to wither—or that divine “ 'Haemony," whose root, transplanted to a more blessed clime,

"Bears a bright golden flower."

The "Life" of this illustrious woman is a lesson which our sex can hardly value too highly. We cannot give even the outline of a career, noble as it was useful and active; but as the volumes of her "Memoirs and Correspondence" are accessible to all, we need merely give the most important data. Mrs. More was born in the year 1745. She was the youngest but one of the five daughters of Mr. Jacob More of Stapleton, in the county of Gloucester. His careful and conscientious education of his children was greatly blessed, and has secured for them all, but particularly for one, an enduring record in the hearts of the pious and intelligent. Hannah early exhibited traits of genius, and that disposition to do good, which continued the ruling passion of her life. It was this philanthropy which incited her

to undertake most of her varied writings.

Benevolence was, in truth, the spontaneous sentiment of her soul, and this, guided and chastened by Christian principle, was as effective in its promptings to activity as ever the most selfish personal ambition has proved in the votaries of the world. And such examples are inestimable for our sex. This benignity of disposition she retained to the last, and it diffused the interest of youth around her winter of existence. An American gentleman, who visited her in 1824, when she was 79 years old, thus de-. scribes her appearance.

"Mrs. More is rather short, but otherwise of an usual size, with a face that never could have been handsome, and never other than agreeable. She has the brightest and most intellectual eye that I ever saw in an aged person; it was as clear, and seemed as fully awake with mind and soul, as if it had but lately opened on a world full of novelty. The whole of her face was strongly characterized by cheerfulness. I had once thought the world was deficient in a knowledge of the means of rendering old age agreeable, and it crossed my mind that I would suggest to Mrs. More that she might, better than any person, supply the deficiency. But it was better than a volume on this subject, to see her. I understood the whole art of making old age peaceful and happy at a glance. It is only to exert our talents in the cause of virtue as she has done, and in age be like her. It was a strong lecture, and I would never forget it." She died September 1833, in the 89th year of her age

"How shall we mourn thee?-With a lofty trust,

Our life's immortal birthright from above!
With a glad faith, whose eye, to track the just,

Through shades and mysteries lifts a glance of love,

And yet can weep!-for nature thus deplores
The friend that leaves us, though for happier shores."

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