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THERE are many communications sent us from time to time, which our limits prevent us inserting when and where their authors would wish to see them. We have asked leave of our Lion this month to publish a few of these articles under the sign of his head, and he, with a kind of grumbling graciousness, has awarded us his permission accordingly.

The champions of the female sex are rising en masse against X. Y. Z.; SURREY breaks a spear with him a few pages onwards, and our correspondent H. N. T. S. appears quite as ambitious, under a somewhat less, aspiring name, to try his strength with the aforesaid ungallant knight.

To the Editor.

SIR,-I am no advocate for the doctrine occasionally advanced, which affirms the original equality of the sexes in intellectual power; on the contrary, I think it as false in fact, as it is dangerous in tendency, yet I cannot help feeling that your gifted correspondent, X. Y. Z. has, in the consciousness of his own sexual and individual superiority, treated the ladies with but little justice, and with still less gallantry. So much is this the case, indeed, that utterly unknown to me as he is, I would almost venture to assert, that his judgment has been warped, or his feelings embittered, by his having been, at some period or other, unfortunately placed in contact with female ignorance, or with female pedantry. The one would tend to produce a belief in the incapacity of women: -the other, to create a wish that that incapacity were universal.


While, however, I am cordially disposed to concede the point of equality between the sexes, I am obliged in candour to admit, that the question has never been fairly tried; while the occupations of women, both natural and artificial, differ so essentially from those of men, as the welfare of society requires that they should, can we ever do more than "take the high priori road" in our reasonings upon the subject. To very few women have the gates of knowledge been thrown open by other hands than their own; and for none has been, or could be, obtained an exemption from those peculiar circumstances, moral and physical, which must exercise so powerful an influence in the formation of their literary character; and which, even under the most advantageous system of education, will ever contribute to affix the impress of inferiority upon the exertions of female intellect.


I cannot, however, agree in the inference drawn by your correspondent, that because women have not succeeded in producing works of imagination of the highest class, they are therefore incapable of comprehending and of relishing such works. If X. Y. Z.the profound political economist,-has ever, in the versatility of his talents, deigned to trifle with the muse, he probably does not entertain the opinion, that his poetry is equal to Lord Byron's; yet would he not justly question the rectitude of the decision which should, for that reason only, pronounce him incompetent to feel and to estimate the higher bard? "Where," he exultingly asks, "where is Mrs. Shakspeare?" he forget, that in the opinion of all orthodox Englishmen, we might in vain inquire of a neighbouring nation, where is Monsieur Shakspeare?" There is something almost of a trading spirit in the criterion of quantity adopted by X. Y. Z. in judging of the value of female productions. Are there no gems in literature, as well as masses of gold? Gray never wrote an epic, nor even a poem of any length; yet are his odes therefore the less invaluable? Until the appearance of Lallah Rookh, Moore lived in our memories and on our lips, only as the writer of the most beautiful short poems ever composed :to the Grecian bard, whom he has made our own, belonged the same character in his day: -and Pindar-the masculine, the sublime, the magnificent Pindar-might with dismay behold his claims adjusted by the balance or the yard.

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I apprehend that X. Y. Z. has not rendered adequate (it is certainly reluctant) justice to the value of Signora Agnesi's contributions to mathematical science; but, with the recollection present of even one successful female adventurer in that region of profound abstraction, how could he proceed to assert, that the abstractions of poetry are utterly inapprehensible" by a woman's mind? Has Madame de Staël, too, that great redeemer of her sex, lived and written in vain for X. Y, Z.? Has the power of her spirit never passed thrillingly over his own? Has the radiance of her surpassing glory never lighted up the secret places of his heart? If he reply in the negative, we must be constrained to admit, that there are some, for whom the charmer charmeth wisely to very little purpose.

I have, however, no design to enter into a defence of the sex, and still less to controvert X. Y. Z.'s general position; but, differing from him only with regard to some particulars, I must at the same time venture to express my regret, that in his mode of treat. ing his fair adversaries, he has exhibited less of suavity than of strength. He brandishes the club of mental superiority in the style of an intellectual North American; and woe to the literary squaw, who should presume to await its dire descent. Away, Ladies, to your strong-holds and your hiding-places;--to your store-closets and your nurseries :-there, you may possibly be allowed to compass, in peace and credit, the composition of a lullaby for your children, or "an excellent new ballad" for your maids. But beware how you put forth your noses beyond these sanctuaries :-beware,-for the Mohawk is abroad. H. N. T. S.

Our poets will leave nothing untouched. Even "Sleep, gentle Sleep," the most inoffensive of all the deities, cannot escape their visitation.


Oh! gentle Sleep!
Leave not thy lover now,

But thy fair tresses steep

Where Lethe's streamlets flow,

And lave my burning brow!

Oh! faithless maid!

To fly when grief appears,
And the languid frame is laid
On a couch bedew'd with tears!

Alas! in happier hours,

When Peace, thy bridal-maid,
Wooed thee to the secret shade,

Where a gorgeous screen was twined,
O'er a couch of summer-flowers-
Thou wert not so unkind!

Farewell thou faithless maid!
Yet not a long farewell,

For swiftly speeds the coming night,
When Death, with unresisted might,
Shall bring thee to the silent cell,
Where a broken heart is laid!

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Some doubts have agitated Lion's Head respecting the Essay or Story which Q. somewhat querulously asks after. It may perhaps be inserted in the next Number, but no positive opinion can be given till our Lord Chancellor has made up his mind.

The Reverend Gentleman who has sent us a Letter concerning the Destruction of Lord Byron's Memoirs has much misconceived the true state of the case, if we are rightly informed; but as our information is chiefly derived from the public papers, it may be incorrect. Certain statements, however, have appeared, professing to bear the authority of Mr. Moore, which completely set aside the view taken by our Correspondent. We have good reason to suppose that another version, distinct from any that has yet appeared, may some day be communicated to the public, which will afford us a proper opportunity of speaking our sentiments on the subject.

The family of poor Bloomfield the poet are in great distress, and a subscription has been set on foot for their relief-Among our numerous correspondents we are sure there are many, to whose benevolence this intimation will be a sufficient appeal.

Paul Jefferies,-Amicus,-On the Heart of Lord Byron,-The Minute Gun,-Translation of a Spanish Song,-The Traveller,-are amongst our unsuccessful communications.


London Magazine.

JULY, 1824.


HAVING partially recovered from a nervous distemper, brought on by a severe course of academical studies, I determined to withdraw for the summer months into the country, where my constitution, naturally weak, might be invigorated, and my mind be diverted from preying on my body, by the novelty and variety of such amusements as woods, and rivers, and mountains, and valleys, afford. Both inclination and necessity (for I was not affluent) induced me to seek a place of retirement at once humble and private, where my expenditure would be inconsiderable, and my actions might escape from that ceremonious restraint, which the forms of society impose upon its members. I had travelled for some time in search of such an abode, but with little success; when one evening as I was returning, quite chagrined, to the village where I had lain the night before, my eyes were attracted to a narrow sheepwalk, which deviated nearly at right angles from the high road, by something which I thought resembled an ornament of dress lying in the middle of the path. Upon taking it up, I found it to be a pale blue ribband, simply folded in the form of a star-knot, and held together by a silken thread of the same colour. This was some proof at least, that a habitation was not far distant, and I immediately determined to attempt discovering it; for, JULY, 1824.

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beside the desire of returning the trifle to its owner, I was strongly tinctured with that theory which appropriates much of our future destiny to such accidental occurrences, and I firmly believed that this pathway and no other would lead me to the object in search of which I had set out; especially as the aforesaid ribband did not lie near the road I was pursuing, but a considerable distance from it on the byepath, thereby obviously pointing out to me the way I should choose.

The path I speak of sunk down between two hills, descending much below the level of the high road, and at length opening into a green platform which overlooked a still deeper declivity. I shall never forget the enchanting prospect which offered itself to my view, as I stood in the green recess, formed by the two banks, which rose from the platform, and concealed both it and the steepdown valley it overhung, from the passengers on the high road. seemed as if suspended in middle air, for the purpose of surveying the hollow woodland beneath me to the greatest advantage; for the precipitous descent of the mountain, on whose side I was placed, prevented me from seeing that there was any thing under my feet but the surface of the platform itself. The valley was of considerable extent, and terminated either way in a dark glen;



it was perfectly verdant, except where its green mantle was relieved by the deeper tints of several masses of foliage with which the lawns were interspersed, by a few glistening rocks, or by the bright surface of a stream which ran at the bottom, forming innumerable cascades and waterfalls, which gave an uncommon sweetness and purity to the air. At one end of the valley appeared a small cottage scarcely indeed apparent, from the number of trees which surrounded it, and open only in front towards the river, on whose opposite side it lay. A few wreaths of thin blue smoke curling above it, showed it to be inhabited. Here then (said I), shall my labours at length cease, if all the wealth I am master of can purchase a corner in such a paradise. Looking about to see how I should descend from my present altitude to this Eden, a little goat made its appearance on the edge of the precipice, just where it was met by the bank forming the side of the recess where I stood, and gazing full at me for some time, disappeared. I approached the place where it had vanished, and found that the former pathway still wound by the foot of the bank wall, and continued in a slanting direction down the side of the precipice, till it ended at the ford which lay across the river, and led up to the cottage door. With some difficulty and considerable danger I doubled this promontory, and descended cautiously, my four-footed guide running on before me, and stopping at intervals to see if I followed. Surely (said I), still theorizing as I followed my active conductor to the bottom, my fate lies this way; here have I a second regulator of my path; there must be something in these governing accidents. I found the river much wider and more rapid than I expected; a large tree, supported at each end on massive stones, lay across the deepest part of the stream, where there were no rocks to serve as steps. Over this my nimble vaunt-courier trotted, and in a few moments led me to the threshold of the cottage, which it entered unceremoniously. As my figure darkened the door, a matron, who sat within, raised her eyes from the book which lay upon her knee, and somewhat astonished,

I suppose, at the suddenness of my appearance, waited without speaking till I had explained myself. Having apologized for my intrusion, and related the circumstances which occasioned it, I briefly mentioned the object in search of which I was travelling. The matron civilly replied, that her cottage, from its smallness, was ill adapted to my purposes, but that if I was satisfied with such an humble residence, if I thought my health would be improved by the situation, I was welcome to a part of her house; that she only regretted her inability to provide me with a suitable apartment.

I agreed with the good woman on her own terms, and finding myself fatigued by my journey, I soon retired to my chamber. It was a small room, neatly but simply furnished; a little bed lay in one corner, a woman's dressing-stand, and a couple of old-fashioned chairs, with an oaken table, nearly completed the inven tory. A few books, chiefly moral and religious, stood upon a shelf near the window; one of these I opened, and found the word Lilian, written in a delicate character, on the title-page. Without waiting to make any further observations, I went to bed and fell asleep immediately.

When the soul is entranced in slumber, and we are as if divided between life and death, there are sounds often heard in such moments, which seem to partake of another and a superior world; sounds of that wild and visionary description to which, waking, we can find no parallel. With such celestial music in my ears I awoke in the morning, but_the sounds seemed to die away as I returned to the consciousness of earthly existence. While I was regretting that my dream was not reality, and before the echoes of its ideal symphony had ceased to vibrate in my brain, methought I heard the same notes distinctly repeated by a voice, human indeed, but more exquisitely sweet than ever I had heard on earth before. The imperfect sensations of sleep had given it its spirituality, but waking perception left it all its wildness and melody. The words, struck apparently by a silver tongue, penetrated to my brain, while lost in breathless transport my vision seemed to return. Again it sung :

Vale of the Waterfalls!
Glen of the River!

Where the white torrents roll

Fast and for ever!

Wild sings the mountain-lark,

Bird of the air!

And down in the valley

There's music as rare.

Sweet blow the mountain-bells,
High o'er the dale,

Waking the little bells
Down in the vale.

Fresh breathes the morning-wind,
Bright looks the day,-
Up to the heather-hills!
Lilian, away!

Raising myself on one elbow to catch these delicious sounds, and looking through the lattice which commanded a view of the ford, and the opposite side of the valley, I saw a light female figure glide swiftly over the sylvan bridge, and with the speed of wind fly up the pathway which I had descended yester-evening. I arose instantly, and going to the window beheld her, accompanied by the little goat, rapidly ascending the precipice. When she had gained the platform, she turned towards the sun, which rose on the other side of the vale, and after a few moments, apparently given to contemplation of its splendour, disappeared between the banks which formed the verdant recess. Though the morning was not far advanced, I felt too much interested, by the song I had heard, and the form I had seen, to think of returning to bed. I hastily dressed myself, and taking up one of the books which lay near me, fixed my eyes on the written characters which I had observed the night before. I know not how long I remained in this state of abstraction, when the shadow of the good woman of the house, passing over the book, awakened me from my reverie. In a few minutes she repassed my window, and proceeded to the other end of the cottage, where a thick copsewood reaching from it to the river, shut out the view of the mountains behind. A green plat, fresh and dewy, lay in front of the cottage, and sloping down to the river, mingled its short herbage with the sedgy borders of the channel; a rustic bench, shadowed by the overhanging copse, formed a kind of bow

er in which the matron now sat, looking anxiously towards the path which led down from the hills. As she sat there, I had a good opportunity of observing her appearance. It was that of one who had seen better days, who had felt misfortunes keenly but not impatiently; melancholy predominated in her countenance, but resignation strove hard for the superiority; sickness more than age had robbed her of youth's graces; but though the rose had faded on her cheek, the lily still remained in all its former delicacy. Turning towards my window, her eye caught mine, and 1 instantly went forth to salute her. She inquired kindly for my health, hoped a few days would restore it, and told me that her daughter had gone to pull some herbs which she thought would be of use to me, and would soon return. I asked, if it was her daughter whom I had heard that morning singing so exquisitely. "Yes (said she), my Lilian is more like a bird of the air, than a thing of the earth; in joy she sings of her happiness; in woe she sings away her sadness; when in neither, like the birds she sings for very thoughtlessness." "And if I may judge (said I) by the rapidity with which she ascended yon precipice,— she must have their wings too, as well as their song." The matron smiled. "Lilian (said she) has lived here for fourteen years, from infancy to girlhood; and these mountains are grown so familiar to her, that she might tread them blindfold. In truth, sir, she is a wild one; when her duty to me does not require her presence, she spends her time wandering

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