tionate friends, easy circumstances, and the numerous train of common mercies and social delights, ought we to call the prospect "dark and melancholy?" Surely the cheerful song of praise befits us better than the sigh of discontent. Do not suppose, I would plead for the gay amusements and dangerous pleasures of the world. I am as firmly convinced of their evil tendency as you can be; and would avoid them as carefully. I am referring only to the natural comforts and lawful enjoyments of life; and even of these I would say, that we must still hold them as if we held them not, and use them as not abusing them.'

Afflictions rightly improved are indeed blessings; yet how apt are we to abuse them by receiving impressions very different from what they were intended to produce! I mention this from a fear that, notwithstanding your cheerful acquiescence in the Divine will, you do, in a degree, mistake the intentions of Providence. I hear your cough is become habitual, and that you firmly expect, and almost wish to join your dear brother very soon. Now I am persuaded, it is not merely from a selfish motive that I would say, do not court death; but I am sure, it is the language of reason and the voice of duty. It cannot be a wholesome state of mind, even in the midst of the severest trial, when it is looking to death as a relief:the holy desire" to depart and to be with Christ," is very different from the desire to depart that we may be with some dear friend, which can arise only from a worldly principle. In sending these sorrows, God usually intends to fit us for living more to his glory here below; and though they certainly contain a loud warning to " pare to meet our God," as we know not how soon our turn may come; it is shewing a degree of impatience under them to say—] cannot bear the separation-let me die also.'

pre

"We have been visiting some friends in the country, who correspond to the description you give of yours. They possess that natural intelligence, sound sense, and intrinsic excellence, which cannot fail to render them interesting, though deficient in cultivation, and unpolished in matters of taste. Now among these friends, our poor superficial acquirements blaze away most splendidly. But though I am conscious of feeling elated at such times, yet, it is checked by a humiliating sense of my real inferiority. I see them living in the daily exercise of virtues and graces to which I never approached. In all that is sound, sterling, durable,-in all that a heart-searching God can approve, I see how far I fall short; and then, how contemptible and worthless is all in which I may have the advantage. Although that degree of vanity which amounts to conceit and obvious and obtrusive self-complacency must, I think, be absolutely incompatible with dignity and refinement of mind, as well as with the Christian graces; yet, where is the heart in which, in a state more or less subdued, it exists not ? And those who are wont to speak and to think meanly of themselves-who are willing to prefer others to themselves-and who are continually deploring their deficiencies, yet, after all, evince great ignorance of their own hearts, if they imagine that, beneath all this humiliation, no seeds of vanity lie concealed.

In truth, they may spring up no where more luxuriantly than in the soil that is watered by the tears of self-condemnation. With respect to this baleful weed, it may with peculiar propriety be said:

"We cannot bear diviner fruit,

Till grace refine the ground."

Here is the only remedy: religion, and religion only can humble the proud spirit to the dust.'

These extracts will shew from what source Miss Taylor drew much of that knowledge of the heart which is in so remarkable a degree displayed in her writings, namely, from the rigid scrutiny of her own. If she was ever a severe censor, that severity of judgement was dictated by self-knowledge, not by any feeling of superiority; for she was always least indulgent towards herself. In another letter, she thus apologises, for the reserve she discovered towards her intimate friends on religious subjects. I dread, much more than total silence, falling into a common-place, technical style of expression ' without real meaning and feeling, and thereby deceiving both others and myself.' Sincerity, genuineness, and a most entire simplicity were, indeed, predominant charms in her character; yet, with these qualities was united no ordinary portion of enthusiasm, which she displayed in the warmth of her friendships, and the intenseness of her early local and domestic attachments. In these respects, her letters exhibit the true image of her mind. Her own opinion on epistolary compositions, is thus given in writing to a friend. If there is any thing I dislike to receive, or that I am unambitious of writing, it is ́ a clever letter, by which I mean, a letter that exhibits, obviously, an endeavour to be smart or pointed, or worse still, 'fine and sentimental.' Nothing can be more unaffected, more perfectly what letters of friendship should be, the pure, untranslateable idiom of genuine friendship, the specific communication of individual with individual, than the letters of Jane Taylor. Their sufficient recommendation to most persons will be, the admirable good sense which they display, and the uniform excellence of the sentiment; but in order to be fully appreciated, they must be viewed, not as literary models, but as models of what does not pretend to be literature, and cannot be without losing its genuine character-letter writing. 'Her letters,' says her Brother,

'were ever the genuine expression of her feelings. She corresponded with none but friends, and her intercourse with those she loved, was inspired only by warm and generous affection. This may, indeed, be named as the prominent feature of her character; for to love, and to be loved, was the happiness she chiefly sought."

There was nothing that Miss Taylor more entirely disliked than the character of a literary lady. Publicity she shrunk from, and affectation of all kinds she despised. Surrounded with those who knew only that she was-Miss Taylor,' she sighed, she says in one letter, for a renewal of intercourse with those who knew her only as Jane. At another time, she writes:

I shall be severely punished indeed for having made Egotism the subject of my " Rhymes," if it should influence any of my friends to refrain from those communications on which the interest of a friendly correspondence entirely depends. In truth, I have found it one of the inconveniences attendant upon making one's opinions public, (and I assure you, these inconveniences are not few,) that others are apt to suppose one is always on the watch for those failings that have been censured, or that the censure or raillery was directed against some individual. I assure you, it is much more from a knowledge of my own heart, than from observation on the failings of others, that I have been impelled to write on the subjects I have chosen.'

Acknowledging the generous and candid praise' bestowed upon one of her publications by an esteemed correspondent, she says:

I do assure you, that the sensible and sincerely expressed approbation of the friends I love, is far more gratifying to me than that of a world of strangers; and from you I feel especially pleased to receive this approbation; because the book contains some lines with which you must be so far from pleased, that nothing but genuine liberality could enable you to judge favourably of the remainder. I would that my spirit were as catholic as yours.'

These extracts, however, will give no idea, we perceive, of that playful spirit by which a large proportion of the letters are animated, especially those addressed to the correspondent who is distinguished by the initials S. L. C. One of the most pleasing features in these letters is the entire change of style, the marked variation of key, which distinguishes the whole series of correspondence with one friend, from the letters addressed to another. Those which we refer to, are in general characterized by a sort of sportive familiarity of intercourse, while the correspondence with Miss E. F. is of a totally different cast, almost uniformly serious, less unconstrained, but breathing a spirit of earnest affection. Without attempting to discriminate the shades of difference in the other parts of the correspondence, it is, we think, impossible not to perceive, as in Cowper's Letters, something of the character of the friend addressed, reflected in the varying style of the Writer. We shall insert a specimen of Miss Taylor's lighter style.

To Miss S. L. C.

***In truth Jane Taylor of the morning, and Jane Taylor of the evening, are as different people in their feelings and sentiments as two such intimate friends can possibly be. The former is an active handy little body, who can make beds or do plain work, and now and then takes a fancy to drawing, &c. But the last mentioned lady never troubles her head with these menial affairs,-nothing will suit her but the pen; and though she does nothing very extraordinary in that way, yet, she so far surpasses the first-named gentlewoman, that any one who had received a letter from both, would immediately distinguish between the two by the difference of the style. But to drop this ingenious allegory, I assure you it represents the truth, and I am pretty well determined not again to attempt letter writing before breakfast. For really I am a mere machine the most stupid and dronish creature you can imagine, at this time. The unsentimental realities of breakfast may claim some merit in restoring my mental faculties; but its effects are far surpassed by the evening's tea. After that comfortable, social, invigorating meal, I am myself, and begin to think the world a pleasanter place, and my friends more agreeable people, and (entre nous) myself a much more respectable personage, than they have seemed during the day; so that by eight o'clock, I am just worked up to a proper state of mind for writing. If you are liable to these changing frames, you will not only excuse and feel for me, but heartily acquiesce in my resolution of now putting down the pen till the evening.

It is now indeed evening, and several days have passed since I wrote the foregoing; and I do assure you that nothing but the fear of being unable to fill another sheet in time for my father's departure, should prevail with me to send you so much nonsense. I often reproach myself for writing such trifling letters; but it is so easy to trifle, and so hard to write what may be worth reading, that it is a sad temptation not to attempt it.'

The following is to a different Correspondent.

* * *• What a pity it is that language should be so much abused, that what is really meant requires to be printed in italics! Of this, the poet has most reason to complain. He feels, and perhaps his whole soul is filled with a passage which ninety-nine of his hundred readers, at least, will peruse without emotion. This struck me in reading the first line of Thalaba-" How beautiful is night!" which may be read without leaving the smallest impression. I read it so at first; but returning to it, and endeavouring to enter into the feeling with which it was written, I found it to be-"How beautiful is night!" and I discovered in these simple words all those inexpressible emotions with which I so often contemplate the dark blue depths, and of which even Southey could say nothing more striking than"How beautiful is night !"'

We shall make room for one more specimen of the Letters,

which will form an appropriate introduction to a notice of the poetical remains.

*I am not forgetful of the kindness which prompted you to speak a word of cheer to a fainting muse...... .....As a source of harmless, perhaps even salutary pleasure to myself, I would not totally despise or check the poetical talent, such as it is; but it would be difficult to convince me that the world would have been any loser had I never written verses, such I mean as were composed solely for my own pleasure. I do, however, set a much higher value on that poetical taste, or rather feeling, so far as I have it, which is quite distinct from the capability of writing verse, and also from what is generally understood when people say, they are very fond of poetry. But while I desire ever to cherish the poetic taste, I own it appears to me to be as little my duty as my interest to cultivate the talent for poetry. With different sentiments I am compelled to regard my own share in what we have published for children;-the possibility of their fulfilling in any degree the end desired, gives them importance, and renders future attempts of a similar kind a matter more of duty than of choice. I dare not admit all the encouraging considerations you have suggested; nor can I fully explain what I feel on this subject. That such reflections are not of a nature to inspire vanity," is true indeed. No; I desire to be humbled by the thought a consciousness of unworthiness makes it hard for me to indulge the hope of being rendered instrumental of the smallest good.'

After the conviction of possessing a poetical talent that might be rendered useful to others, had at length been forced upon her, Miss Taylor very rarely, we are told, indulged in composition, as she had been wont to do, merely for her own gratification. The Poetical Remains' contain, however, some few exceptions to this remark, and these express feelings of a much higher order than such as were familiar to her in early life. The earlier poems, those especially which are here reprinted from the "Associate Minstrels,"

• exhibit the tender playfulness of her fancy and the warmth of her heart; but the vigour she afterwards displayed, had not then been roused. Yet, she has since written nothing more characteristic of herself, or perhaps more beautiful, than the "Remonstrance to Time." In this piece, in the Birthday Retrospect, and in one or two of the pieces which will be found among the Remains, she has given the portrait of her own mind with so much truth and life, that those who knew her seem to see and converse with her while perusing them. To portray itself, her mind needed only the mild excitement of her habitual feelings; but, to display its force, it required the stimulus of the strongest extraneous motives. The productions of her pen under these different impulses are widely dissimilar, and perhaps will hardly both please the same reader.'