FEMALE GENIUS.

BY PROFESSOR WENTWORTH.

"Is the intellect of woman susceptible of as high a degree of cultivation as that of man ?" is a question that was doubtless discussed in the debating clubs of the antediluvians. It will be decided only when the sexes shall have been placed upon equal footing in privileges and responsibilities for centuries. Ages on ages have asserted the natural inferiority of woman. What changes might not be wrought, could female advancement be relieved from the crushing pressure of opinions generated in the midst of polygamy and patriarchal rule! Every age has produced prodigies of female genius. In every country woman has surmounted adamantine prejudice, conquered conventional restraints, and asserted her claims to inspiration and power. Is she equal to the task of conducting the affairs of state? Semiramis rises before us, with her half-fabulous prodigies of empire-founding, war, and state politizing. Mighty Babylon, the wonder of the world, less a city than a country inclosed with towering walls, with its hundred brazen gates and its hanging gardens, attests her greatness; while thousands of conquered Lybians, Ethiopians, and Indians confirm her capabilities for political and state supremacy. The diplomacy and accomplishments of the intriguing, captivating Cleopatra, learned in ten languages, the conqueror of one of the stern world-conquerors, that "dazzling piece of witchcraft," at once commanding and unfortunate, are during monuments of strength and versatility. Need we strengthen our point by dwelling on the genius of the unfortunate pupil of Longinus, the proud and beautiful queen of proud and beautiful Palmyra, the victim of the wrath of a stern conqueror the golden-fettered captive of the robber Aurelia-Zenobia?

For the last five centuries Europe has been a theater for the display of consummate female ability. The capacity of woman is illustrated in the history of every throne there. Italy and the fourteenth century furnished the Joannas, distinguished alike for misfortune, learning, and political skill.

VOL. XII.-4

The genius not less than the benevolence of a woman gave to the world a new continent. Ferdinand, with his eyes fixed on the rebellious Moors of Grenada, was intent solely on the subjugation of those who had replied to his insolent demand for tribute, that their mint "coined nothing but cimeter blades and heads of lances." In his anxiety for the conquest of a beggarly kingdom, he would have sacrificed a hemisphere. It was Isabella who, when the disappointed Genoese captain turned his course homeward in despair, sent after him a mule, and a message, and a suit of clothes. Her jewels were freely pledged to defray the expenses of a voyage as chimerical to all around her as Symmes's expedition to the pole, or the project of balloon navigation to the moon. The name of the unfortunate truant of Lochleven, with all its romantic and tragical associations, is by no means the mere watchword of commiseration. It suggests power, learning, genius, and will, which, if they could have been fostered under more favorable circumstances, might have been of signal benefit to her nation and race. When had England, if we except the Protectorate, a half century of more prosperous rule than under the selfish, conceited, arbitrary, and arrogant daughter of the great Henry, who took the crown from the brow of her sanguinary sister, to place it over a brain revolving schemes scarcely less bloody; who began life with the butchery of Jane Grey, a beautiful girl of seventeen, and cursed its close with the murder of another of her sex, upon whom Heaven had been more lavish of personal attentions than upon herself; whose public parsimony reared no monuments to her own or her nation's glory, but whose private self-conceit left three thousand gowns in her wardrobe? If the troublous reign of the simple Anne throws no additional light upon our subject, it shall at least furnish us one illustration of a character of which thousands might be afforded. The intrigue of a single woman of the bed-chamber overthrew the conqueror of Europe at the head of his own armies-a modern parallel to the celebrated case of Demosthenes, of whom it was said, what he had been a whole year in erecting, a woman overturned in a single day. Shall we here instance

is a picture of the scenery amid which rose the huge stone chimneys of the old two-story red house, in which the infancy of the world-renowned poetess was cradled. Upon the lofty ledges of the foaming Yantic, at Norwich Falls, stood the authoress, in imagination, when she penned,

"Torrent voices thundering by,

When the pride of venal floods swelled high;"

and piles of gray granite, interspersed with shrubbery and human abodes, the living picture of rocky, romantic Norwich, rise upon the fancy, as she images

forth the

"Quiet roofs, like the hanging nest,

'Mid cliffs by the feathery foliage drest."

THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD.

MRS. MARTHA E. KINCAID.

BY A PITTSBURG 1TINERANT.

WHAT changes a few years produce, and how much like a panorama of ever-varying pictures is the past! You look back, and memory brings them up, scene after scene-now with brilliant hues and picturesque groups, and anon with dark outlines and somber aspect-a saddening chiaro oscuro.

It was one Sabbath morning, as performing my accustomed duties in the Sabbath school, in the old church building, in the city of P., that I observed, in the first female class, an unfamiliar face a new scholar. The class was composed of girls-of such members of our school as were just emerging from girlhood into womanhood-all nearly of one age. An occurrence such as this which I have mentioned, in a large and changing population as is that of most cities, was by no means remarkable, nor, indeed, would it ordinarily have made any very strong impressica upon my mind, only that I saw a very marked attention on the part of her classmates, when it happened to be her lot to answer the question on the Scripture lesson. And the same interest might also be seen on the part of the teacher, as she bent forward, eager to catch every syllable of her fair pupil's answer. Thus having my attention drawn toward the-as yet to me stranger, I soon felt very desirous to hear and see more of her; not that I perceived any extraordinary beauty of person or of feature-for I know not that in this respect she had any superiority over many of her companions-but there was a charm, a sweetness in her voice-a clearness in her expressed thoughts and ideas, not often to be met with in one so young. And then, too, in all her demeanor there was so much of quiet dignity, of modesty; her eyes beamed with so much of intelligence, her countenance was expressive of so much mildness and gentleness, with so much of that which renders woman lovely and dear to the thinking, intelligent mind, that being once seen,

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having one's attention once directed to her, she became an object of deep and irresistible interest. On inquiry, I found that she was the pride, the comfort and solace, the daughter of a pious and widowed mother, whose delight it had been to educate and fit her to adorn any station which Providence might assign to her. When she entered our school, Martha Elina-for such was her name-was not a member of the Church; but some time after she found 'the pearl of great price"-she obtained a knowledge of Him "who is the fairest among ten thousand"-"whom to know" aright "is life eternal."

It soon happened that a change of teachers became necessary, and, by the voice of her fellowclassmates, she was called upon to take charge of the class. Henceforth it was my lot to be on terms of greater intimacy with Elina; to hear her as she explained and enforced upon her attentive and admiring pupils, with earnest simplicity and pathos, the word of God-that word which alone, through the influence of the Holy Spirit, "is able to make wise unto salvation"-a salvation, the blessings of which she so deeply felt. To me it is something grand, ennobling, beautiful, to see one in the first bloom of womanhood, gifted with sparkling wit, intelligence, and grace, devoting her time, her talents to the interest of education, especially to that education whose end and aim it is to fit the everliving soul for enjoyment in another and better world. How deep and heart-felt must be the piety, how strong, how ardent must be the love for the acquisition and dissemination of knowledge and truth which this work requires! For such a work as this was Elina peculiarly fitted. Her delight was to drink at the pure fountains of knowledge, to store her mind with the choicest thoughts of the most pure and chaste the richest gems of the writers of the past. In conversation, from her own deep and meditative mind would she bring forth its treasures, and her vivid imagination, her warm, enthusiastic spirit, with kindling animation, would rouse in her companions corresponding emotionswould charm and delight the soul. How such a one adds to the attractions of the social circle! How cheerful the fireside where such congenial spirits meet in converse! How much is the absence of one of these gifted minds felt!

As was to be expected, Elina drew around her many admirers. The sprightly and gay, as well as the more sober and reflecting, were eager to pay their court. Of the latter class, there was one upon whom her eyes rested with peculiar favor and delight-for whom her heart was drawn out in all its depth of pure and holy love. It was no sudden and indiscriminating passion which was permitted to rage with destructive fury in her breast-it was not a flame fanned by the sickly sentimentality of novel or romance; but gentle and mild, as the zephyr of a summer's eve, as the dawnings of friendship, it grew and increased in the bosom of each, as month after month of intimacy and social intercourse developed more and more the fitness of its

object. The "course of their true love" was even and uninterrupted. Here soul met with its congenial spirit; and, in the blissful enjoyment of reciprocated love, they lived only for each other. Each to each, they plighted their troth, and, at the appointed season, were united at the hymeneal altar. Their love, thus founded on mutual worth, did not become less when thus closely and indissolubly united; nay, rather, it continued to increase, to strengthen day by day. I knew by the cheerful countenance of the husband, as, after the business of the day was finished, he hastened away, that no frowning wife awaited him on the threshold, and it was clear that to him there was, indeed, "no place like home." How delightful to see them meet, with sparkling eye and joyous countenance welcoming each other! and it needed but a glance through the house to know that here was the habitation of peace, of joy, of happiness.

Duty at length called me from the city where they had taken up their residence, and, for a time, I consequently saw them but seldom; yet I often heard of them, and the continuance of their mutual happiness and prosperity. To the husband the domestic hearth became still more attractive; and the mother rejoiced to exhibit their infant William, and trace, in each lineament and feature, a miniature resemblance of his now proud and happy father.

But alas for human joys! The business in which the husband was engaged demanded his absence for a few weeks from his family, and with a heavy heart and sad forebodings he was compelled to leave his still weak and delicate wife and scarcely conscious child. I need not attempt to describe their mutual agony at this parting. They, and they alone, who have separated from all they loved best, can imagine and appreciate their feelingsalternating between hope and despair-racked with doubts and fears. How earnestly does the wife gaze after her departing husband, and listen to the echoes of his footsteps as they die away in the distance! and how lingering is the look which each one takes of the other! But he has gone; and she turns to her boy; and, though she drops a tear on its innocent face, in maternal care she strives to console and cheer her heart. But still how lonely she feels! "How I miss you!" said she, in her letter to him, "how I miss you! Every-where I turn or look I behold something to remind me of you, and sometimes I almost imagine I hear the fall of your dear feet on the stairs, coming to your wife and boy." Alas! Elina, never again wast thou to be conscious of hearing the echo of those feet. A relapse took place. She was prostrated by disease. The throne of reason was overthrown. Her husband was recalled on the first appearance of danger; and, with distress and anguish of mind, not knowing what awaited him, he hastened by the most rapid conveyance. He reached home only to behold the wreck of his fondest hopes-his most brilliant prospects. She whom he loved better

than his own life lies on the bed of death. How changed is she by the fearful ravages of disease! Can it be that this is the wife of his bosom? He calls her name; she lifts her eyes, now fast setting in death; she recognizes his voice-his face; she speaks; and then, after the lapse of a few short hours, beheld only the blanched, the lifeless remains of Martha Elina, the mother of his child, the wife of his youthful and only love.

I stood by the grave as her cold and inanimate clay was deposited therein; and, as I looked at the mourning, weeping assemblage of friends, her trembling and sorrow-stricken mother, her husband, almost crushed to earth, my mind involuntarily recurred to the last time I had seen her. She was then in the bloom of health, and rejoicing in the brightness of her hopes-the brilliancy of her prospects. No cloud had then arisen to darken the clear firmament. Alas! what a few months may bring forth! The budding hopes are nipped; the brilliant prospects are blighted-destroyed by the chilling hand of Death.

Thou hast passed away, Elina! Whither hast thou fled, sweet and pure spirit? To the bosom of our God-to the land of perennial joys. And there has already joined thee the cherub soul of little William. And thither, blessed spirit! he "whose house has thus been left desolate" is waiting to be called up. He who has taken thee, Elina, speaks thus to us, "Be ye also ready." Thou art enjoying thy reward; and may we, whom thou hast left behind, be found ready, worthy to rise, to wing our way, and enter the city of our God, and join thee among the redeemed of earth!

MY HUSBAND'S GRAVE.

BY MRS. SARAH TILTON

THOU sleep'st beneath the forest fair,
Where wild flowers bloom above thy head-
Where warblers of the summer air

Chant sweetly o'er the silent dead.
I gladly turn from gayer scenes,
To meditate in this lone place,
And, in imaginary dreams,

Think I again behold thy face.
Thou bidd'st me check the tears which flow
In bitter drops; for thou art gone
Far, far from scenes of pain and woe-

In fairer realms thou hast thy home.
Thy spirit sighed for joy so pure,

That naught of earth its charms could bring; Thou'st found a home that will endure, Where disappointments never spring. Rest sweetly, then, departed one; Though sorrow rends this heart of mine, Erelong, life's tedious journey run, My spirit freed will seek out thine.

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RECOLLECTIONS OF SUMMER RAMBLES.

BY S. A. LATTIMORE.

LAKE CHAMPLAIN.

THE dawn of an August morning was just beginning to peep over the loftiest summits of the Green Mountains of Vermont, as our steamer bore away from the wharf of Burlington. It was a dark and | lurid morning ominous of a coming storm. Heavily the dense, massive banks of thunder-cloud went trailing slowly across our way, and from their dark recesses, ever and anon, plunged the glaring lightning down into the troubled waters before us. Westward, the distant hills of New York were dimly visible through their envelop of darkness and of gathering tempest. Only here and there might a faint outline be seen, but whether of mountain or of cloud was unknown. Eastward towered up the tall peaks of the Green Hills in spectral gloom, densely vailed in their mantle of storms. Around their tops began to play the electric fluid, leaping and sparkling from point to point, like the discharge of small arms before a battle, while the ear, in painful suspense, listens for the appalling crash and roar of the heavy artillery. It was a scene of indescribable grandeur. It was my realized ideal of a classic spot of which I had read in Homer's olden story. There, right before my own eyes, stood old Olympus, Pelion, and Ossa; and beneath that hovering cloud of battle warred Jupiter, the Thunderer, with his Titanic kinsmen, for the imperial dominion of the skies.

The Lake was in tumult. The waves came wildly tumbling, leaping toward us as if instinct with rage and fury. Our bark rode out upon the billows gallantly, and, veering round with her prow to the north, rushed boldly on, directly toward the point where the storm gathered thickest. As the vessel struggled with the heavy sea, sighs and even slight groans were occasionally audible, and the peculiar rocking motion seemed to affect some of our fellow-passengers very deeply. All these indications could not be deemed auspicious auguries of a very pleasant voyage down Lake Champlain, but we had traveled too far to feel like turning back at mere appearances. On we sped in our temerity and in our frailty.

At length, one by one, the heavy clouds began to drive away to the eastward before the wind, and the timid young day, which had seemingly paused in affright at the wrath of the elements, now began again to advance like another brighter dawn. Gradually the heaving tide grew calm, the boat skimmed along more steadily over the subsiding waves, the purity and elasticity of the air returned, and there was a general brightening up among all the affected sufferers.

Occasionally, across the glittering Lake, gleamed the morning sunlight through the broken clouds, relieving with soft and somber shadows the many fairy islands, so much admired by all voyagers

who sail on the blue waters of Champlain, and the gentle ripples, breaking along their perpendicular, wave-worn banks of solid rock, in pensive monotone, murmured a soothing lullaby to the quiescent elements. Over Champlain lingers a mellow tinge-a hazy serenity peculiarly its own. Around it stand the mighty, everlasting mountains; yet their rugged outline and riven crags, by a magical distribution of light and shade, are softened down to the tone of the finest mezzotint. A sky bends lovingly over it, such as we always imagine smiles upon the Hesperian Gardens, or upon the far-off Islands of the Blessed. A dreamy sensation falls upon the soul, which few locations inspire. I have felt it amid the scenery of the Susquehanna; and in a still higher degree while gazing, forgetful of all things else, upon that scene of more than Arcadian beauty-the lovely vale of the Neversink. feeling, which all travelers have experienced, but none described, is the true, æsthetic sensation-the offspring of the purely beautiful.

This

Threading our devious way through that green archipelago, we saw, on some of the islands, the smoldering ruins of buildings, fired by the lightnings of the recent storm-Cyclopean altars sending up their dense smoke to propitiate the wrath of the storm-demon.

As we swept down the glassy bay of Plattsburg, fancy wafted me back to a bright and beautiful autumnal morning of the past, when, like a direful blot on that silvery sheet of water, lowered the black cloud of battle, far more fearful than the raging tempest which had just vanished before our eyes. On that spot, thirty-seven years before, had two contending navies met, and foe with foeman struggled in mortal conflict. The engagement of the fleets was the signal for the attack upon the town. Fiercely raged the doubtful combat upon the water and upon the shore at the same moment. The land and naval forces of the British and American armies amounted, in all, to nearly twenty thousand troops. Fourteen thousand men, commanded by Sir George Provost, beleaguered the village, which was defended by Gen. Macomb, with only three thousand undisciplined soldiers; yet, few and inexperienced as they were, they parried every assault of the swarming besiegers, till finally the brave M'Donough captured the entire British fleet, when the enemy, panic-stricken and repulsed, were compelled to fly. In this battle Commodore Downie, commander of the Royal fleet, and two thousand, five hundred soldiers were killed. The actors in that bloody tragedy are immortalized, and in all coming time the heart of the American will throb with patriotic pride at the very names of PLATTSBURG and M'DONOUGH.

We may shudder when we think of the terrible waste of human life that was there, yet all must acknowledge that just and righteous were the motives that impelled our countrymen to that fearful extremity. But now no tale of the death-struggle will the bright wave reveal, as it smoothly sweeps