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THE COTTAGE HOME.

BY MRS. I. W. MERCUR.” Out! thou hast return’d to thy Jov'd cottage home, And it breathes fortira welcome, to thee and thine owns A welcome to tempt thee no longer to stray, Afar from the eccines of this lov'd home away.

But thon hast heon blest! in thy wand'rings afar, Thou hast caught the bright radiance of health’s beaming star And the bloom of thy cheek, and light of thine eye, Are the bright signets vet of ite victory.

And thou too wert blest with full many a friend, Who sought thee where'er thy lone footsteps did tend And with many a bright and cherish'd loy'd emilo; Did of the lone hours of thy absence beguile,

But oh! were their stniles like the amiles ye have met? From those fair sunay brows where the signets all set; OF affection whose tendrils-have root in the heart, And for thee from earth's coldnese a feeling apart?

Oh no! for their language hreath’d not of the soul; As broath’d those hright smiles "neath affections control, Yet they were belov'd, they were cherish’d by thee, Aa radiant stars upon life's lonely sea.

But would thoy still there ever radiant shine, Should a cloud chance to darken that fair braw of thine; Oh, no! they would eink beneath life's troubled breast; Nor shed their bright Justre where sorrow fouad rest.

But thon hast returned! where those ever will find, ‘The }ov'd, and the cherish’d, the true and the kind ; Whose emilea would still greet thee should fate darkly Jow'r, Aad cull from thy bright path each (ragrant flower.

‘Then wander no more from this dear cottage homo, Ob! Leave not its lov'd hearth for others to roam; For dim grow its bright fires when thou art away, And all eave affaction ia marked with decay.

Rade time will work Shanges on cach lofty brow, Will onateh the bright tresecs that circle them now, ‘Will steal from the dark eye the brightness of youth, But cannot, oh! cannot, affection and truth.

‘Then linger around the lov'd haunts of thy homo, And leave not its friends for friends forcign to roam, ‘And the changes of time will still leave unto thee Hearts that will lave on through eternity’s aea.

Mise Scvawrex—Miss Sedgwick ie a jewel of « writer, We admire her works, but admiration is not predorainately sénsitive—we love them even more than we admire them, There is a kindly fecling and a domestic charm about them, and they ought to form a portion of every man's library who loves his children and lives happy with bis wife.

THE GENIUS OF BRAINARD.*

‘The publication of this volume has injured rather than advanced the reputation of Brainard, and he has no reason to thunk the compiler for what has been called “a tardy act of justice.” Hitherto the post has heen known as the author of several fine pieces, but this collection holds him up to the world as the writer of some hundred indifferent ons, We condemn the whole affair. We condemn the book, we condemn the compiler, we condemn the publisher, and we condemn whomsoever of the public may praise the book as a whole. The volume answers, however, one good pur- pore—it enables a critic more fully to appreciate the genius of Brinsed. But so far as the popular reputa- tion of the poet ia concerned the book should have been left unpublished.

Let us not be misanderstood, We do not attack the genius of Brainard. This book hus not induced us to think lesa highly of the poet, but on the contrary has given us an insight into his character which we never enjoyed hefore. Yet such will not be the general impression produced by this volume. The public, as 2 public, will come to a different conclusion, for ax it is apt to judge every thing hy the mass, it will deny that @ man who writes e hundred indifferent and only 1 few good poems, can be a genius, We have every reasonable respcet for the public, but it has one pecus liurity which, for the present occavion, must he bore in miod—it rarely thinks deeply. It is tike a wayfaring man who reads while he runs. It is very apt, therefore, to form a wrong judgment on matters that lie a little out of the common way; and to conclude that the poet, in the case we have cited, owes his popularity to luck rather than to morit. The public will say that a man who is really a genius can write a good poem more than one in every ten efforts. And on a cursory view of the subject the public would seem té be in the tight. But 2 little reflection would open up new facts that might altogether vary our judgment, of at least modify it in many important particulars. Such is the case now. A glance at the genius of Brainard will explain our posi- tion,

Brainard was a man whom we know hy his works nearly as well as if we had met him personally. His character had almost the simplicity of that of a child. He was frank, trusting, affectionate—endowed with great sonsihility, and little fitted to cope with the hardy details of life—pensive, gentle, trathful and retired. depression of spirits, especially in his later years, was great; and tinged every thing he regarded with a metan- choly hue. ‘The very mirthfulness which he sometimes oe

Hopkins, Hartford, 184%.
 * The Poems of John G.C, Brainard—1 vol.—Edward

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