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a woman's heart to conceive, and a woman's hand to embody a yet higher standard of unselfish affection and devotedness. Disguised as a page, Amenaïde follows the young queen amid the dangers of war, not to enjoy Leoni's society, but to minister to the comfort and happiness of Leoni's future bride; and finally saves the Count from an assassin's hand by receiving the death-blow in her own heart. Such is one among many portraits of "woman actuated by an attachment as intense as it was true, as pure as it was deep."
Every production that tends in the present age of lowered feeling and bad taste to refine the one and elevate the other, must be valuable. Especially is Poetry valuable on this account. It is a moral impossibility for genuine poetic feeling to coexist with coarseness of mind and vulgarity of habits: whatever be the station in life, once admit the Spirit of Poetry, and you admit an influence which will soften, refine and exalt. It will perhaps be said that some contrary facts go to disprove this assertion; but wherever such facts exist, they rather testify, that although the intellect of poetry might have sparkled in the sentiment, the soul of poetry did not inspire the feeling. The mechanism is little worth if the vital power be wanting; the body is but a mockery, if the living spirit be absent.
Again: Every production that tends in this age of selfishness and expediency to expand the heart, to dignify the character, to raise the hopes of society to a better order of things than the wearying round of heartless ceremonies, of bustling love of gain, of disgusting self-indulgence; such productions must have a moral value far beyond the consideration of their mere marketable price.
