could have anticipated. Nor, vivid as were the first streaks of light, had we at one time reason to hope for that steady and clear development of power which some of her later annual volumes of poetry evince. If we might be allowed, we would instance as especial evidences of an enlargement of thought, and a higher and more refined apprehension of the poetic, several of the "Subjects for Pictures" that have recently appeared in the "New Monthly." The reader's ear cannot have failed to catch up those new notes of music. They are strikingly beautiful, and undeniably original.
With the consciousness that she has scattered the seeds of many pleasures in the world, with a full sense of what ought by all to be enjoyed, and of the human capacity to enjoy, it is not a little annoying to see Miss Landon persevere in maliciously contrasting the actual with the ideal—in deprecating what is, for the mere sake of glorifying what is not. We wish we could see her ceasing to cultivate her want of faith in the world's virtue, since nobody has more charity for the world's vice. But good or evil, she must and will have her sharp and brilliant jest at the expense of the world; sincerity and hypocrisy fare alike, if there be a witty analogy in the way. Why will she persist in showing her love of the picturesque and her devotion to poetry, by dressing up Apollo in a mourning cloak, as though he were attending the remains of human Enthusiasm to the grave? It is all a mistake. Enthusiasm is yet alive, and is likely to live, and wears a sunnier aspect every year. Did not L. E. L. look fondly and delightedly upon his eager and glowing face the other day, when he was seen, early and late, cordially gathering up welcome votes in support of her brother as a candidate for the literary office which he is so worthy to fill? The history of the last few weeks should convince Miss Landon that active gratitude and generous enthusiasm are not among the absentee virtues whom we are obligingly invited to mourn for.
Having alluded to Mr. Landon's recent election, we may adduce two testimonies, called forth by the occasion, of the estimation in which his sister is held. We have reason to know that the expression of Sir Robert Peel was—"I am happy to mark my sense of Miss Landon's character and talents by voting for her brother;" while Mr. Hope, the son of the author of "Anastasius," observed—"It is gratifying to have the means occasionally of showing both the reverence we feel for genius, and the gratitude we owe to those who exercise it on our behalf." There is far more of this sentiment in the world than L. E. L. ever admits of in her writings; and it becomes more, the more we believe in it. We hope it may induce her to feel that there is a sunny side of life, and that she can at any time cross over to the dark one when she is tired of the light. It is never too late to despond, and wise people ought not to be in a hurry.
We conclude by recording a far more touching and graceful compliment, which was paid to our fair subject a short time ago. It was a tribute from America, sent from the far-off banks of the Ohio—a curious species of the hundred-leaved Michigan rose, accompanied by a prayer that L. E. L. would plant it on the grave of Mrs. Hemans.
