body it in new forms. The creation of beauty is Art. * * * The poet, the painter, the sculptor, the musician, the architect seek each to concentrate the radiance of the world on one point, and each, in his several work, to satisfy the love of beauty which stimulates him to produce. Thus is Art a nature passed through the alembic of man. Thus in Art does nature work through the will of a man filled with the beauty of her first works.

W. Emerson.

DAUGHTERS OF EVE.

YE are stars of the night, ye are gems of the morn,
Ye are dewdrops, whose lustre illumines the thorn;
And rayless that night is, that morning unblest,

When no beam in your eye lights up peace in the breast;
And the sharp thorn of sorrow sinks deep in the heart,
Till the sweet lip of woman assuages the smart;
"Tis hers o'er the couch of misfortune to bend,

In fondness a lover, in firmness a friend;

And prosperity's hour, be it ever confessed,

From woman receives both refinement and zest;

And, adorned by the bays, or enwreathed with the willow, Her smile is our meed, and her bosom our pillow.

Anon.

SOLITUDE.

To those who pass their time in solitude and retirement, it has been justly objected, that if they are happy, they are happy only by being useless; that mankind is one vast republic, where every individual receives many

benefits from the labour of others, which, by labouring in his turn for others, he is obliged to repay; and that where the united efforts of all are able to exempt all from misery, none have a right to withdraw from their task of vigilance, or be indulged in idle wisdom or solitary pleasures. Johnson.

CONDITION OF WOMAN.

WHETHER the story of the Amazons be authentic history or only a cunningly devised fable, it presents, at all events, a poor picture of what society would become, if our councils were filled and our armies manned with women, and they, rather than men, or equally with men, discharged the external and political duties of society; doing so at the sacrifice of all that delicacy and maternal tenderness, which are among the most appropriate and the highest charms of Woman. Hers be the domain of the moral affections, the empire of the heart, the co-equal sovereignty of intellect, taste, and social refinement; leave the rude commerce of camps and the soul-hardening struggles of political power to the harsher spirit of man, that he may still look up to her as a purer and brighter being, an emanation of some better world, irradiating, like a rainbow of hope, the stormy elements of life.

North American Review.

TO SCULPTURE.

THANKS to thee, child of Genius, thou didst touch
The buried feelings of an ice-cold heart,
And at thy magic touch they lived and glowed.

These veins

Thanks to thy parent, too! at her command,
Grace, symmetry, and beauty, sisters three,
Sprung from a shapeless, rude, unsightly mass,
To centre all in thee, thou favoured child.
Thou art not marble! sure that bosom heaves
With this mysterious thing called life.
Mark how they swell; can that be mockery?
The eye dilates, the varied passions flit ;
Hope smiles, but soon hope flies before despair-
Once more they struggle for the mastery;
The Angel triumphs and the Demon falls.
Sublimity of mind! what matchless skill!
Conception how divine! thus to portray
The moral grandeur of a noble soul.

L. S.

FLOWERS.

Of all the minor creations of God, flowers seem to be most completely the effusions of his love of beauty, grace, and joy. Of all the minor objects which surround us, they are the least connected with our absolute necessities. Vegetation might proceed, the earth might be clothed with a sober green; all the processes of fructification might be perfected without being attended by the glory with which the flower is crowned; but beauty and fragrance are poured over the earth in blossoms of endless varieties, radiant evidences of the boundless benevolence of the Deity. They are made solely to gladden the heart of man, for a light to his eyes, for a living inspiration of grace to his spirit, for a perpetual admiration. * *

*

The Greeks, whose souls pre-eminently sympathized

with the spirit of grace and beauty in every thing, were enthusiastic in their love, and lavish in their use of flowers. They scattered them in the porticoes of their temples they were offered on the altars of some of their deities they were strewed in their conqueror's path— on all occasions of festivity and rejoicing they were strewn about, or worn in garlands. The guests at ban-, quets were crowned with them-the bowl was wreathed with them; and wherever they wished to throw beauty, and to express gladness, like sunshine, they cast flowers.

To garland young brows with a splendour

That nothing but roses can give,

Or still on young bosoms in tender

And beautiful slumber to live

W. Howitt.

By the azure of morn, and the crimson of even,

For the lip they have smiles, for the fair cheek a bloom— With the sunshine and roses this world is a heaven, Without them, it were but a desert and tomb.

A FAIR ITALIAN.

Her full dark curls

Were clustered on a brow of ivory,
And fell in lavish wealth, shading a neck
Clear as an alabaster shrine, concealing
A ruby, that with soft suffusion fills it,
As with a loving glow. Her face was kindled
By the quick glances of her large black eyes,
That flashed from underneath her arching brows,

Anon.

Like gems in caves; and yet there was a softness
At times, when shades of thought stole over her-
But in the happy consciousness of beauty

Her heart was all so joyous, that her smiles
Gave a perpetual sunlight to that face,

So beautiful, to see it was to love.

I could not choose but watch with earnest gaze
One of so perfect form and finished grace,
That those who moved around her were but foils
Heightening the one sole diamond. When I look
On one so fair, I must believe that Heaven
Sent her in kindness, that our hearts might waken
To its own loveliness, and lift themselves

By such an adoration from a dark

And grovelling world. Such beauty should be worshipped, And not a thought of weakness or decay

Should mingle with the pure and hallowed dreams,

In which it dwells before us. It should live

Eternal; or, if it must pass away,

And lose one tint of its now perfect brightness,
Let it be hidden from me, for the sense,

That all this glow must fade, falls on my heart
Like the cold weight of death.

Percival.

PURPOSE OF PAINTING.

To please is the genuine aim of painting, as of all the fine arts; when pleasure is conveyed through deeply excited interest, by affecting the passions, the senses, and the imagination, painting assumes a higher character, and almost vies with tragedy; in fact, it is tragedy to the