We would draw more copiously from this admirable address, but we prefer to recommend its entire perusal as worthy of our readers. Mr. Woodbury thinks, that Congress should make an appropriation for the objects of the Institute, as within their constitutional prerogative. The close of his address we cannot avoid quoting:

"And not the least of the advantages will be, that which flows to mankind from all kinds of encouragement to scientific developments of the laws, which pervade and control every part of creation.—I mean the increased moral and religious feeling they are calculated to inspire. Instead of tending to check this, as some fear, they are, in truth, a revelation of and from God, almost as striking as ever was written on tables of stone, or by the pen of prophet or evangelist. Nature is thus full of apostles from on high. And if an undevout astronomer has been justly denounced as mad, how truly must that person have eaten of "the insane root," who can trace out similar ways of Providence even in a dew-drop, or ray of light, no less than in loftier objects, and not become, at the same moment, more humble in the visible presence of such Almighty wisdom, and more disposed to obey all his wonderful laws."

In closing our notice of the National Institute, we would earnestly recommend it to our representatives in Congress. The wagon is in the mire, and the shoulder is at the wheel ;A little help from Hercules will lift it to a proper level, and set it in successful motion. Once started on fair ground, it will advance, with rapidity, in its work of usefulness and honor to the United States, and be another proud memorial of the patriotism and wisdom of a republican government. R. W. G.

Columbia, S. C.

ART. VI.-MRS. WELBY'S POEMS.

Poems by Amelia, (Mrs. Welby.) Boston: A. Tomkins, Cornhill. 1845.

FOR seven years past, the name of Amelia has been familiar to western readers of fugitive poetry. The editors of papers have been glad to give ear to the warbler, and to send the echoes of her songs, in their columns, to every fireside. She was ushered into notice by an editor, whose taste in poetry is highly respectable, and who has, on several occasions, been the patron of early genius.

Since the introduction of Amelia, as a young votary of the muses, she has changed her name, and assumed the responsible duties of a wife. Her poetic fire has survived this crisis; and though, for a short period, its light was veiled, it soon burst forth from its restraint, and burned with a brighter flame, than ever shone upon us in her girlhood. Her "Ocean-burial," which we do not find in this collection, was the first piece that appeared after her bridal, and it will compare, as we shall show in the proper place, with any thing the public have seen from her pen.

To write a criticism of a young lady's first essay in book making, to do justice to literature, and, thereby, to her merits, to point out faults and analyze beauties, and, at the same time, be true to an elevated gallantry, by avoiding both severity and flattery, require, in the critic, an accurate judgment, a cultivated taste, and a high degree of christian forbearance. Few critics can forego the temptation to indulge in satire, or in flattery, and remember the motto, "in medio veritas," a remark, which is not intended to herald what shall follow; but to remind the admirers of Amelia of the writer's apology, should he transgress in any one of these particulars.

It is common, in this country,-perhaps it is easy, to sustain a strain, through a few stanzas, and manufacture tolerable verses, without possessing much poetic feeling, or a single ray of genuine poetic fire. Any educated man or woman, who reads much poetry, will find this practicable; and few will be able to deny having occasionally tested the matter, and made verses which they deemed pretty respectable. Many, indeed, have thus persuaded themselves, that their productions were gems from the true mine, and forth

with threw open their collars, and bared their necks, à la Byron. This is truer of men, than of women. It is natural to the female character to feel poetically; and, to have given voice to these feelings in rhyme, produces not half the vanity, which the same couplets would beget in men.

But easy as it is to the cultivated mind, to indite verses,— readable, and even harmonious, there are few who deceive themselves long,-still fewer, who continue to deceive the reading public. Popular approbation in respect to fugitive poetry, is more valuable than in any other of the thousand departments of thought, in which it assumes to be the talisman. In poetry, there are no party prejudices, nor sectarian creeds, to court or offend. Sentiments, are not viewed through whig or democratic prisms, nor weighed in catholic, nor presbyterian scales. A trembling daughter of genius casts a sybil leaf upon the winds, with no assurance that she shall ever hear from it again; knowing, indeed, that it must be rudely dashed about among the contending currents of public taste. So the little bark, freighted with precious things, sets sail upon the unknown seas, trusting only to the fineness of her model, and the finish of her rigging, to bear her to distant lands,-and cherishing a warm hope, that the value of her burden may win the favor of Æolus and of Neptune, and guide her to the destined port. The thousands pass these fragments by unnoticed; the hundreds glance over them; while the tens read, to award the meed of praise or dispraise, without looking at the name of the author, or caring whose fame is made or ruined by their criticisms. Of fugitive writers, not one in one hundred passes this ordeal in triumph. Yet this very gauntlet has Amelia's poetry continued to run, for seven years. She has won the chaplet of flowers. Let her wear it,-not as a queen of the poetic realm, but as one of the graces, who aspires, in time, to be a queen.

The poetry of Amelia has merit. Let us examine in what this merit consists. It has its faults. Let us, with a firm, but gentle tone, delineate them, for the common benefit of the writer, and the reader of American poetry.

We shall not arraign her for trial, at the bar of the epic, or heroic Muse: nor sneer at her pretensions, because she has never ventured to gather laurels from the summit of Mount Helicon. We have no such rugged steeps to climb in this far west of ours. We have great rivers, deep fo

rests, bold hills, and magnificent prairies. We have free institutions, health, prosperity, and energy. Those whose

spirits easily catch the tone that pervades the air they breathe, may be inspired with song, and tune their harps to themes like these. Amelia seems to be easily influenced by surrounding circumstances, and to have persevered in giving perpetuity to her thoughts in rhyme. Her songs have been sung, again, by those whose spirits sympathized with hers, and who have drunk from the same springs of thought and feeling. Thus much for the influences of her western locality. They are of the happier class,-take a cheerful air, and throw the sunlight of hope and joy upon their subjects.

Themes of sadness abound in every region. The cultivated and the simple, alike, find occasions for tears strewed thick along life's pathway. There are deep affections in the human heart, which the cares of life cannot eradicate. Cultivation brightens, purifies, and hallows them. These affections are natural to the female heart, and still more so to those who are gifted with the spirit of poetry. There seems to be a sacred affinity between poetry and pathos. Loneliness and sad reminiscence, are the favorite dissipation (so to term it,) of the poetic mind. It requires no effort to keep up the feeling of pensiveness and sadness, and hence, less exertion is necessary to sustain the strain of poetry. This characteristic runs through the greater portion of Amelia's poetry. As we glance over the index to her volume, we infer a due admixture of the cheerful with the sad; but as we read those pages carefully, we find a strong tendency to run into the melancholy strain. Not that her sentiments are gloomy, or her heart sombre. On the contrary, there is a sweet beam of hope illumining her darkest pictures. Still there is a taste for tears. Remembrance, with her, is usually sad. The distant past has some prismatic lights playing about it, but they are moon-beams, not sunlight. Few hearts leap with delight at a recurrence to the past, even though past joy. There are more who shed tears, when a long forgotten delight bursts suddenly upon the mind. When we have plucked the first sweet rose of spring, and breathed its fragrance,-(an aroma unrivalled by flowers,) the tears have risen to our eyes, as the recollections of childhood gushed upon our hearts, and it is natural that they should do VOL. VIII.-No. 16.

35

SO.

The past is the buried present. We recal its loved features from the tomb, and

"The tear of regret will intrusively swell,

As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,

And sighs for the bucket which hung in the well."

Our poetess is fond of these tears, and while they glisten in her eye, she imparts to her tablet the lines that will breathe the same spirit to others. And this is the chief difference between Amelia, and many other young ladies of equal cultivation, perhaps, equal talent. Poetic feelings and fancies may be found in many, who never give body to their thoughts in numbers. Most cultivated minds possess them in a greater or less degree,-all, for instance, who read and enjoy good poetry, when written by others. A few of those who possess this spirit, resort to their pen, and having, several times, mastered the difficulty of the task, a gratification is discovered in thus giving to "airy" fancies "a local habitation." The practice, continued, becomes one of intense pleasure,-and the writer, who composes with ease, is amply repaid, whatever may be the verdict of the public on the merits of the composition.

Amelia has found a pleasure in courting sad and happy fancies, and in committing them to writing. In this, she is the benefactor of the public, so long as the public delights to read her productions. The astronomer, who makes observations upon cometary and metoric bodies, is called the benefactor of science and of his race, because he snatches from the passing wonder a portrait of its appearance and a record of its phenomena, which enable posterity to examine it in like manner. One of our friends thinks, that ideas are cometary bodies of very eccentric orbit,-often worthy the attention which the astronomer devotes to comets ;-not that every idea is worth such observation, no more than every spontaneous meteor is worthy the astronomer's notice. But those whose numbers flow as smoothly as Amelia's, and whose thoughts are as pure and rapturous, confer a benefit upon those who read, by recording them as they pass.

The scope of Amelia's talent is not wide, nor is it very deep. She is never witty, never humorous, never sarcastic, never philosophic, and very rarely speculative. She is always tasteful,-chaste,-always happy, though in tears,thoughtful, ingenuous and earnest,-fervidly earnest. Her