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The poetical reputation of Mrs. Lewis has been rapidly acquired, but is not the less thoroughly deserved. Within a few years past she has published much and written mire; but although what she has accomplished suffices to give her a very decided prëeminence, there can be no doubt, in the minds of those who know her best, that her most important triumphs lie in the Future-for with taste, scholarship, a strong bias towards Letters, and that pardonable ambition which always accompanies true genius, she is still very young, and has many years of active exertion in prospect.

Previous to 1840 Mrs. Lewis had published only a few spirited prose stories in Southwick's “ Family Magazine," with some fugitive poems in different papers and periodicals; but the first Poem from her pen which especially attracted public attention, was her“ Ruins of Palenque,” founded on a passage in Stephens's “ Travels in Central America.” This was originally published in " The New World,” and was widely copied and circulated, at the time of its issue.

In 1814, the Appletons published, at New York, her “Records of the Heart," a large edition of which was soon exhausted.

The prems included in the “ Records” are chiefly compositions of length, as wit as of high merit. The four opening pieces are " Florence,” “Zenel," (pronounced Thanail,) "Melpomene," and “Laone." These all bear the peculiar impress of their author's mind, and are passionate, glowing, and classical in word and spirit. It would give us great pleasure to quote a passage or two from each of these poems—but we cannot, without exceeding our limits :-nor indeed could any mere extract convey an idea of the chief merit which distinguishes these works—the merit of a well-arranged and well-balanced whole. Among the minor poems of "The Records” are several of exquisite pathos, subservient to a very forcible yet very refined and delicate fancy-or more properly imagination. We must be permitted to exemplify our meaning by the citation of “The Forsaken" a poem, which, in its peculiar way, is not excelled, if equalled, by any composition, of similar length, which has ever been written by an American There is about it a dreamy-a voluptuous melancholy-a "simple, passionate and sensuous" expression of sorrow which is perfectly irresistible :


It hath been said for all who die

There is a tear;
Some piuing, bleeding heart to sigh

bier :-
But in that hour of pain and dread

Who will draw uear
Around my humble couch, and shed

One farewell tear ?

Who watch life's last departing ray

In derp despair,
And southe my spirit on its way

With buly prayer?
What mourner round ny bier will como

“lu weeds of wo,'
And follow me to ms long home-

Sulemnu and slow ?

When lying on my clayey bed,

Iu icy sleep.
Who there by puie affection led

Will co'ne and weep-
By the pale moon inplant the rose

Upou my breast,
And bid it cheer my dark repose,

My lowly rest ?
Could I but know when I am sleeping

Low in the ground,
One faithful henrl would there be keeping

Watch all right round,
As if some gem lay shrined beneath

Thnt sod's cold gloom,
'Twould mitigate ihe pangs of Death,

Aud licht the toinb.
Yes, in that hour if I could feel

From halls of glee
And Beauty's presence ONE would steal

In secrecy,
And come and sit and weep by me

In night's deep noon-
Oh! I would ask of Memory

No other boon.
But ah! a lonelier fate is mine-

A deeper wo:
From all I love iu Youth's sweet time

I 8000 m1st go
Draw round me my cold robes of white

In a dark spol
To sleep through Death's long, dreamless night,

Love and forgot. The great charm of this truly beautiful poem is the exquisite and unaffected naturalness of its thought. It is on this account that the sternest heart will be moved by it, even to tears.

In 1846, she published in the Democratic Review “ The Broken Heart," a poem in three Cantos ; and since this period she has given to the world a number of minor and less elaborate compositions, principally in the American and Democratic Reviews.

“ The Broken Heart,” a Tale of Hispaniola, is especially characteristic of its author—fervid, yet ornate and gracefully controlled. It is a poem of intense and even Byronic passion. We quote a passage of singular beauty :

Alas! what we have sepulchres
To hearts that have been dead for years ?
Dead uuto all external things
Dead unto Hope's sweet vfferings,
While wille j18 l.lty pinions furled
The Spirit floats in neither world.
She gains at length the holy fave,
Where Denih and solemu Silence reign-
Hurries along the shadlowy nisles

Up to the allar where blest tapers
Burn dimly and the Virgin smiles

Milst rising clouds of incense vapors-
There kneels by ibe Coniessiou Chair
Where waits the Friar win fervent prayer
To soothe the children of Despair.
Her bauds are clasperl-her eyes upraised-
Meek-heantiful-ihough coldly glazeil-

And her pale cheeks are paling faster.
From niler her simple hat of struw
Over her neck her tresses fioro

Like threads of jel o'er alabaster.


She has now in the press the “ Child of the Sea and Other Poems;" and upon the poem which gives the title to this volume, her poetical reputation will, perhaps, ultimately depend—at least in great

" The child of the Sea” is emphatically a romantic poem. Avoiding equally the vulgarity of the mere matter-of-fact worldling, and the dreamy, yet hard and cold abstractions of the Transcendentalists and Progress-Moogers, Mrs. Lewis has, in this fine work, given the world an earnest, and perhaps but an earnest of her powers. Its ruling trait is enthusiastic abandon-much in the inanner of “ Maria del Occidente." She seems to have aimed at reproducing her conceptions in all the freshness and unpruned vigor with which they arose in her mind—that is to say, as regards the thoughts themselves—for the language in which they are embodied is skilfully and artistically perfected. The versification is indeed, quite elaborately managed. But the poern will be published early in the fall, and will then speak, forcibly, for itself.

We take the liberty, however, of making two or three short extracts, merely by way of illustrating our remarks:

“ But he escaped, despite their frantic cries,
And efforts to regain the lovely prize.
What happened theuce-or to what shores they flew-
Upon what seas they sailed, I never knew-
I only know, that of this Union wild,

I was the Pledge-au Ill-Started, Ocean-Child !"

“My Mind by Grief was ripened ere its time,
And Knowledge came spontaneous as a Chime,
That flows into the Soul, uubid, ousought;
Ou earth, and air, and Heaven, I fed my thought-
On Ocean's teachings-Etna's lava tears

Ruins and Wrecks--and nameless Sepulchres."
And again,

“ Sleep chains the earth : the bright stars glide on high
Filling with one effulgent smile the sky;
Aud all is bushed, so still, so silent there,
That one might hear an angel wing the air.
And where is Zamen? are bis slumbers sweet,
Calm, renovating, in this fair retreat ?
Have Beauty's smile, and tranquilizing light,
Muie, moaning Melancholy, put to flight;
And changed his bosom from a murky bell,
To an abode where Love and Peace may dwell ?
Ah, no! it only shows the Ruio there,
Like smshine falling on a sepulchre !
There is a resurrection of the Heart,
When from iis vivifying ashes start
Ils cong-crated Dead-Hope, Love, Joy, Dole,
Grief-laden, circumambiate the soul--
An hour when Time's dim veil aside is cast,

And we relieve the silent-solemn Past." Probably no American poetess has a more thoroughly educated mind or is more conversant with standard English and American Literature. Her classical acquirements have made her favorably known in circles where commendation, on such points, is with difficulty extorted; and her translation of the storm-scene from the First Book of the Æneid has been critically pronounced the best yet made of that passage into English verse.

In person, she is about the medium height of woman, or perhaps rather above it—of a dignified and reserved demeanour—a finely formed figure> chesnut hair, curling naturally, and large, dark hazle eyes. The beautiful portrait, by Ellivt, lately exhibited, is by no means too flattering a likeness,

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(CONCLUDED.) REGNAULD did not wait to be asked a second time; he took the partridge, daintily, upon the end of his fork, carved it with great dexterity, and replacing the carcase upon the dish, he reserved the four members, which he moistened with a suitable quantity of sauce, and then transported to his plate the tempting slice of toast.

It is perfect!” he said, as he stoutly assailed one of the wings. riously, papa Vachelier, with my hand upon my conscience, your breakfasts are better than those I get at the inns; you may believe me, upon my honor."

M. Vachelier swallowed a cup of tea, closing his eyes and opening his nostrils like a man who listens with satisfaction to the praises bestowed upon his table, and who at the same time inhales the odor of a dish of which he dares not partake.

"Ah!” cried Regnauld, suddenly,," what a villainous taste! the detestable toast! This sauce is shocking, papa Vachelier ; it is not worth a—"

" There, now!” said Justine, who had entered the dining-room, “ the partridge is not done; I was sure of it; it was madame who took it from the spit.”

Another individual now entered, or, rather, rushed into the apartment. It was Madame Vachelier, pale, with haggard eyes, distorted features, panting respiration; she darted towards the seat occupied by Jules Regnauld, and seizing his plate, cast it violently upon the floor.

How," she cried, in a voice of terror, but which to those present seemed agitated by anger—"what are you doing, unhappy man ?”

Doing! Why, you see; I am eating my breakfast! I am eating the vilest partridge-no, the vilest toast. You must change your baker, bourgeoise."

" And why did you not obey me, sir ? why did you leave me when I had need of your assistance ? when the business of the house demanded your presence ?—And you, sir," added Madame Vachelier, turning to her husband, “what means this? How is it that"

She durst not finish the sentence.

“Come, come, madame," said Vachelier, who comprehended nothing of what was passing, “ do you mean to find fault with my taking tea ?”

Madame Vachelier was about to reply, but, at this moment, Jules Reg. nauld fell back upon his chair; his limbs were convulsed, his features violently distorted.

“Give me something to drink, Titine !” he said, “ something to drink ! water, if you please—water!"

Madame Vachelier wrung her hands in despair; she took the travelling clerk in her arms, who had fallen from his chair to the floor ; and, repulsing Justine, who approached, with her face bathed in tears, she cried

“Run, Justine, run for Doctor Lafrenais! run, or this poor fellow will die in my arms!” Justine made but one leap from the Rue des Lombards to the Rue Saint



Martin, where she had the good fortune to find the Doctor, who was terrified at the young girl's paleness.

“What is the matter, Justine ?" inquired the Doctor; “has any accident happened? Is Madame Vachelier ill ?”

“Ah, yes !—No, it is not madame,” said Justine, weeping, “it is M. Jules, mon dicu ! it is M. Jules."

The Doctor found the patient in his bed, suffering from all the painful symptoms which result from poisoning: an insatiable thirst, cramps, icy coldness of the extremities, convulsions, general prostration, contraction of the features, and delirium.

Vachelier stood on one side of the bed, his wife on the other.
" Regnauld has been poisoned," said the Doctor.
“Yes," replied Madame Vachelier, "by verdigris.”

True," said Lafrenais, “subcarbonate of copper.” There are but two possible means of curing a man who has been poisoned; it is necessary either to neutralize the deleterious action of the poison, or to force the stomach to reject it. To produce the former of these effects, the Doctor resorted to whites of egg and milk ; to produce vomiting, he administered warm water in large doses.

When the most alarming symptoms were removed, and Lafrenais thought himself nearly sure of saving the travelling clerk, he said

Well, this will teach you to keep your copper pans in order." “Copper pans!” cried Justine, who applied this reproach to herself; 'why, M. Jules has eaten nothing that has been in a copper pan. He has eaten roast partridge."

“Ah, ha!” said the Doctor, while all present gazed upon him in silence.

“ We must now leave M. Jules," resumed the Doctor. “ All this has fatigued him. He needs repose." Lafrenais


M. Vachelier to understand that he was threatened with an attack of indigestion ; that the scene which he had just witnessed had affected him in a dangerous manner, and that he would do well to pass an hour or two, upon his divan. Madame Vachelier led the Doctor into her chamber, and said, taking him by the hand

Can you save him, Doctor ? can you save him ?"

Parbleu! yes, my dear Marie,” replied the Doctor, clasping the hands of his inamorata. “I was called in time, I shall save him.—But they did not stint the dose. And how did you know that it was subcarbonate of copper?'

"Verdigris ?"
“Yes, verdigris.”

“ I tasted the partridge,” said Madame Vachelier, “and I fancied that it had a very coppery taste ;—the taste, Doctor, reminded ine of the smell of rusted copper."

“That's it! that's the very thing !" said the Doctor. And you have tasted it-imprudent creature ! You must take flaxseed tea. But since some one has been poisoned, some one, man or woman, must be the poisoner.

“Do you not think, Doctor," said Madame Vachelier, turning pale, “ do you not think that an accident—"

An accident ?—Everything is possible, Marie—but I do not believe in an accident. What kind of a creature is this little Justine ?—A very pretty girl, I know—but in other respects—"

These words engendered a series of new ideas in Madame Vachelier's brain. She found, in truth, for the first time, that Mademoiselle Justine was, really, a very pretty gir!. She now remembered, as she fancied, that

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