from herself some of her views and feelings in relation to various subjects.

Her love for poetry has been often alluded to. There was no affectation, no sentimentalism, in this passion. It was the genuine product of a refined and highly-cultivated mind, the instinctive appreciation of whatever is beautiful and ennobling, purified by an elevated piety. It did not, as we have seen, clash with the cultivation of her reasoning powers, or with the sterner elements of character. A few selections from her correspondence with her future companion give us some of her thoughts on this and other subjects.

"How very painful to think that Byron's noble powers should have been debased by intemperance, malice and misanthropy! It destroys half our enjoyment of what is really beautiful and good. I would never wish to read anything written under the influence of his baser nature.

"Yet much as I dislike his reputation, most of his poetry, which I have read, has a charm for me, and a power over me, that I can hardly find anywhere else. No one, nursed as I have been in mountain scenery, can read Childe Harold without emotion. Though the Green Mountains are not the Alps, yet Byron might have written the same among them.

The sky is changed — and such a change! O night,
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong,

Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light

Of a dark eye in woman! Far along,

From peak to peak, the rattling crags among,
Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud,
But every mountain now hath found a tongue,
And Jura answers through her misty shroud
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!

And this is in the night. Most glorious night!
Thou wert not sent for slumber; let me be

A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,
A portion of the tempest and of thee.

Sky, mountains, river, winds, like lightnings! ye,

With night, and cloud, and thunder, and a soul
To make these felt and feeling, well may be
Things that have made me watchful; the far roll
Of your departing voices is the knoll

Of what in me is sleepless, if I rest." "

No wonder, living where she did, that such poetry came to her with a thrilling power. Should her children ever visit their mother's birthplace, they will appreciate the beauty of these passages, and her intense love for her mountain-home, as they cannot otherwise do.

"I am again experiencing the thrilling delight of returning home. And the mountains, with their varying lights and shades, are the same as when I left them. I have come again and sat down by the window looking out towards that beautiful blue mountain, and that tall elm, so graceful and majestic, remaining often with magic distinctness against the evening sky, when the hills and valleys have all melted into one.

That of Burns heart and mind,

Yesterday afternoon a storm of surpassing grandeur passed over us. I wish I could describe the sunset after it. I went out and stood an hour to gaze and admire. "I was delighted with the two reviews. contains much interesting philosophy of the many new and striking thoughts, and some passages of great beauty. But I was particularly delighted with the review of Milton. It is exceedingly interesting and beautiful. I would mention particularly the comparison with Dante and the description of the Puritan. How perfect his descriptions! His allusions are very pleasing, and his style smooth and flowing.

"There was some philosophy not very complimentary to the lovers of poetry. It seems that a certain unsoundness of mind is necessary to the enjoyment of poetry, and that it 'effects its purpose most completely in a dark age.'

"Wordsworth we can love as well as admire, and there is nothing to rebuke our love. I am glad he is your favorite poet. Such reading seems to bring me to life again.

"What an indescribable and almost mysterious beauty there is in the following passage:

I have seen

A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract
Of inland ground, applying to his ear
The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell,
To which, in silence hushed, his very soul
Listened intensely; and his countenance soon
Brightened with joy. For murmurings from within
Were heard, — sonorous cadences, whereby
To his belief the monitor expressed
Mysterious union with its native sea.

Even such a shell the universe itself
Is to the ear of faith; and there are times,
I doubt not, when to you it doth impart
Authentic tidings of invisible things,
Of ebb and flow, and ever-during power,
And central peace subsisting at the heart
Of endless agitations." "

HAPPY INFLUENCE OF MISSIONARY

CONSECRATION.

"From darkness here, and dreariness,

We ask not full repose;

Only be Thou at hand, to bless

Our trial-hour of woes.

Is not the pilgrim's toil o'erpaid

By the clear rill and palmy shade?

And see we not, up earth's dark glade,
The gate of heaven unclose?"

KEBLE.

THE following extracts from letters written to her friend M., during the year before Henrietta left the country, evince an increasingly healthy tone, and a decided progress in Christian experience, while some of them breathe a chastened, subdued spirit, and a growing conviction that no mere circumstances can confer happiness.

"Dorset, July 25th, 1837.

“MY DEAR M.: Your letter has just arrived, after its three weeks' wanderings to — I cannot tell whither. But I have my suspicions that it has visited the capital, since it came with a broken seal as evidence that it had fallen into the hands of those who have power in the land. It is very complimentary that they should have concluded to forward it, since you know it is only letters of importance that they hor.or in that way. I am truly thankful for their kindness and consideration in the

case.

“The well-known superscription was greeted with all the gladness of former days. It seemed so long a time since I had

heard from you, that I could not help opening and reading your letter first. Do you not think this was a pardonable offence, just for once, and considering the circumstances? I know you will forgive me, and I shall not take the trouble to beg pardon elsewhere.

66

My long silence must have seemed strange to you. I have been intending to surprise you with my actual presence. Almost every week I have said, 'Next week I shall go to A. and see M. Now the probability of my doing such a thing has nearly vanished; yet I must come. How I have longed for one of those talks! It would have been better to me than anything I can think of.

"I cannot tell you certainly when I am to leave the country, — perhaps in November, perhaps not till spring. You have no doubt imagined some of the truth about my feelings, - but I think their bitterness is past, and I shall never again feel the parting scene as I have felt it. I am happy that my life is so devoted. I would rather be a missionary than anything else, even though there may be many roughnesses in the path before me. What is our ease? What are all our pleasant things? What do they yield us, to be compared with those sterner pleasures to be gained from a life of self-denying usefulness? It is the severer discipline that is best adapted to prepare us for our rest in heaven. We shall soon reach that land, if our earthly journeyings be thitherward. And what though our paths diverge, if they meet there? O, if you were only going

too!"

"Andover, Nov. 1837.

“MY DEAR M: My brother says he will take a note to the office, if I will write it in one minute. I am glad you will come and see me. It is so very pleasant that I have a great mind to come over and walk back with you. If I were sure we could have it all to ourselves, I would not hesitate a moment. * * * * * * * I often wonder that I am not better and happier, with such an object before me. But, if happiness be not in the soul, there is no combination of circumstances can give it. There are aspirations that raise me