"Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,
Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine,
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine,
Because of grave-damps falling round my head?
I marvelled, my beloved, when I read
Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine,
But... so much to thee?

While my hands tremble?

Can I pour thy wine

Then my soul, instead

Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range.

Then, love me, Love! Look on me... breathe on me!

As brighter ladies do not count it strange

For love to give up acres and degree,

I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange

My near, sweet view of heaven, for earth with thee!"

How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use?

A hope, to sing by gladly . . . or a fine

Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse ?

A shade, in which to sing? of palm, or pine?

...

A grave on which to rest from singing?... Choose."

These passages, which we would gladly multiply, suggest the remark, that, besides the "Sonnets from the Portuguese," some of the minor poems of Mrs. Browning are the purest gems of her genius. Among these we will mention but two,

"Inclusions " and "Insufficiency," - forbearing quotation. The heroic tenderness of a woman's heart never found deeper expression than these little fragments afford.

The "Sonnets from the Portuguese" embody about all that the poet has left on record of the birth of her love for her husband. It is enough to say that those who looked for something in them proportioned to their writer's greatness of heart are more than satisfied. A romantic but incorrect account of the first acquaintance of Miss Barrett with Robert Browning has found its way into Appleton's Encyclopædia, and thence into many of the notices which have been written of her. It is stated that Browning, calling to thank her for a compliment to himself, and being entirely a stranger, was shown by chance into her sick-chamber, and came out her lover. We have the authority of a member of the family for saying that no such thing ever happened. At the time that Mr. Browning's attention was drawn to the allusion to his "Pomegranates" in "Lady Geraldine's Courtship," with the fine fancy

of which he was so justly pleased, — Elizabeth Barrett was indeed an invalid, but at her father's house, surrounded by every comfort that love could devise, and in circumstances under which nothing like an intrusion into her chamber could by any possibility have occurred. The poet made an acknowledgment of the compliment paid him, in a note,—not, indeed, immediately, but somewhat tardily, and was subsequently admitted to an interview. Their marriage took place two years afterward. The newspaper accounts of her death are more accurate, and, although meagre in thrilling details, are suggestive of that oneness of heart and life to which the happy two were appointed, and prophetic of the more perfect unity which awaits them in heaven. Never were man and woman more clearly ordained for each other than Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett. They were imperfect apart; together, they were rounded into one.

We may as well here correct the widely prevailing impression that Miss Barrett was obliged to struggle with poverty. On the contrary, Mr. Barrett was in good circumstances, and his daughter had no want unsupplied. This fact, far from detracting from her fame, should add to its lustre. There is, indeed, a certain merit in becoming great or learned in spite of the disabilities of poverty. But the disabilities of wealth are greater, and less frequently surmounted. It is truly a wonder that Elizabeth Barrett should have accomplished her noble work under the double burden of physical infirmity and pecuniary opulence.

It may be asked, Of what use is this criticism of the life and work of one of the noblest of women? Men need no proof that woman's sphere is emotional, impulsive, and domestic; and, thank God, the women that most brighten life need it still less. There are some, indeed, who are like wandering stars, and it would be hopeless to attempt defining an orbit for them. If a woman thinks she can reason, she can never be convicted, so that no demonstration can avail with this class. Let them go. Let them go. We have not written for them, for we could not help them if we would. Doubtless they must fume their little hour ungracefully away. But God has not left the sexes mutually helpless. Even as men can some

times feel what a woman's tenderness is, so woman can oftener understand what a man's reasons are. And hereby it is evident that we do not degrade or underrate woman, when we say that she is not, distinctively, a reasoning, but an impulsive being. For what is our reason, if it is not illuminated by her love? Moreover, her heart stands in the masculine mind; her beauty much more than adorns our strength. It is, then, the fullest acknowledgment that men can make of the equality of woman, when they submit even the highest exercitations of their reason to her approval. They would be barren without her. Love is not inferior to wisdom, but is at least co-ordinate with it. Impulse is not less than reason, but rather the intuition to which its long and labored processes are an indirect and weary road.

"And so these twain, upon the skirts of Time,

Sit, side by side, full-summed in all their powers."

ART. IV. Montrose, and other Biographical Sketches. Boston: Soule and Williams. 1861. 12mo. pp. 400.

THIS little work contains four sketches: La Tour, Brummell, Johnson, and Montrose. The last named fills more than two thirds of the whole volume. The subject of it is the celebrated James Graham, Marquis of Montrose; and it is of him that we purpose to write in this article.

But first let us frankly bear testimony to the author's candid and impartial manner of estimating character, as well as to his ready sympathy with all that is truly generous, brave, and noble, and his undisguised scorn of all that is base, tortuous, and underhand in the conduct of the leading men of both parties. Far from being carried away into indiscriminate condemnation of the partisans of royalty, he justly makes allowances for the influence exerted over their actions by the circumstances of birth, habit, and education, knowing well how to distinguish between self-sacrificing, devoted loy

alty, which nobly defends the just prerogatives of an unfortunate sovereign, and that blind, unreasoning obedience which renders itself the willing tool of authority, whether justly or unjustly exercised. Neither does he forget, in his strictures upon the more aggressive acts of the Scottish Covenanters, that their intolerance was in a great measure produced by the injustice and persecution which they had previously endured.

The language and general style of the book are, however, by no means pleasing. The former is often affected, and the latter is deficient in ease and polish. Take, for instance, the following sentence: "Here, to this camp at Bothwell, came messengers from King Charles (two of them), coming by different routes, to make sure of the arrival of one at least." There is a superfluity of such ill-constructed periods. We will take a hasty glance at the active career of the great Marquis, and, when occasion requires it, the author shall speak for himself.

By birth and position Montrose was essentially an aristocrat, destined to play a prominent part on a very stormy stage. But his education, his connections, and the influence of his friends, all tended to make him in early life a partisan of the Kirk, and not of the king. Returning in the year 1636 from his travels on the Continent," he found," says our author, "a distracted country. The long struggle between the kings of Scotland and its Kirk had at last come to the verge of open quarrel." The King, Charles I., was bent upon governing the Church, and making himself the supreme and unquestioned head of it. The people, on the other hand, were resolved to maintain the independence of their Kirk, and to resist the introduction of the liturgy, and of episcopal forms in general. It was necessary that the young Earl should take sides with the one party or the other. Neutrality was altogether out of the question: his illustrious descent and his strong positive nature alike forbade it. "Not Lord Napier only," we read, "but many other friends of Montrose, too, were the determined opponents of Episcopal rule; and the young Earl himself, born of Presbyterian parents, and reared in that faith, went forward undoubting, in aid of religion and

just liberties." Having made his choice, Montrose became a strenuous and fearless advocate of the popular cause; honest, straightforward, uncompromising, but not disloyal. His object was not to overthrow the king's authority, but to restrain it within lawful bounds.

In this respect, as in many others, we trace a striking resemblance between Montrose and his noble English contemporary, Lucius Cary, Lord Falkland. Both enjoyed all the advantages of rank, wealth, and a liberal education. Both achieved a reputation for dauntless courage in the hard-fought field. Both possessed accomplishments beyond the generality of men, even in their own rank. Alike distinguished in their youth by ardor and unselfishness, both entered early upon the arena of public life, and set their faces boldly against all unlawful exercise of the power of the crown; but when the crown itself was endangered, and the people became aggressors in their turn, both ranged themselves on the side of the king, and eventually lost their lives in his service.

A braver or a better man than Falkland never drew sword in King Charles's cause. Clarendon speaks of him as " a person of such prodigious parts of learning and knowledge, of that inimitable sweetness and delight in conversation, of so flowing and obliging a humanity and goodness to mankind, and of that primitive simplicity and integrity of life, that, if there were no other brand upon this odious and accursed civil war than that single loss, it must be most infamous and execrable to all posterity." Hume, also, eloquently records his shining talents, winning manners, and splendid virtues; telling us how, while contending, sword in hand, for his sovereign, he was still anxious for his country, seeming to dread "the too prosperous success of his own party as much as of the enemy; and among his intimate friends, often, after a deep silence and frequent sighs, he would with a sad accent reiterate the word, Peace." Again, the same historian says that, "In excuse for the too frequent exposing of his person, which seemed unsuitable in a Secretary of State, he alleged that it became him to be more active than other men in all hazardous enterprises, lest his impatience for peace might bear the imputation of cowardice."