ment. Yet, as each book is rounded and complete in itself, the only real difference is that the design was restricted to the illustration of six moral virtues, instead of a round dozen. Adopting, very judiciously, as we think, the synthetic, in preference to the analytic method, in the composition of his essay, Professor Hart commences with the opening scene of the poem, and proceeds, book by book, to unfold the esoteric meaning of the poet, as involved in the incidents of the story, and the characters which are from time to time introduced. Of the nature of many of these characters Professor Hart has given us so clear an insight, that, to the general reader, he may be said to have vitalized them, the sketches are so admirably drawn, and the coloring so perfect. Indeed, when we say that we regard them as equal in every respect to Mrs. Jameson's admirable sketches of Shakspeare's heroines, we only assert that which we believe will be borne out by the opinion of every unbiassed reader. Witness, for instance, the following masterly portraits of Belphoebe and her twin-sister Amoret. "Spenser's devout loyalty to his sovereign, the Virgin Queen, as well as the native bent of his mind, led him to admire beyond bounds such a character as this. He has lavished upon it the riches of his genius with a most profuse and hearty liberality. The birth of Belphoebe is one of his master-pieces. He describes this event, in the first place, in a few general terms, which seem to be a sort of ottar of roses, the very quintesence of poetry. Her birth was of the womb of morning dew, "Belphœbe had a twin-sister, Amoret. The babes had been stolen from their sleeping mother on the day of their birth by two of the Goddesses, and educated separately according to the tastes of their foster-parents. Diana, or Phoebe, the Virgin Goddess, the alma mater of one, made her, as we have just seen her, the peerless virgin, Belphoebe. Venus, Goddess of Love, took the other babe, the infant Amoret, to the gardens of Adonis, and caused her to be trained in all the arts and mysteries of perfect womanhood. "By the Amoret of Spenser we are to understand one whose perfections and imperfections are the counterpart of her sister's; who is both less angelic and more womanly, who is made to love and to be loved; who finds not only her happiness, but her honor and her perfection, in a feeling of dependence upon another; the rays of whose beauty diffuse warmth as well as light; whose delicacy is not the angular and facial exactness of the diamond, hard, bright, and cutting, but the soft repose of a sunbeam upon a bank of violets; whose love is not the playful and spark "Belphoebe is Spenser's idea of absolute virginity-of a being possessing all womanly perfections, except that which is most characteristic -having all the grace and delicacy of her sex, without its dependence-not like Britomart, unloving because she has not seen the right one, or Lot appearing to others to love because she successfully conceals her feelings:-but one who can pity the misfortunes or admire the noble qualities of a man, as she would those of a woman; who does not love, because in the composition of her heart there is no mixture of that subtle element on which love feeds; whose want of love is not want of feeling, nor the result of disappointment, much less of chagrin; who can sympathize with the pains and alleviate the dis-ling jet d'eau of the wild Florimel, nor the deep, tresses of a wounded squire, as she would those of a younger brother; in whose bosom there is no latent, undeveloped want; to whose eyes the magic mirror of Merlin would reveal only a group of sisterly nymphs, a medicinal herb, or a wounded deer; in whose tender and graceful stalk (to vary yet once more the expression) neither the germ has been retarded by late spring, nor the bud blasted by untimely frost, nor the flower already faded and fallen, but its sap, by native constitution, contains only that element which produces branches and leaves-a plant, flowerless, indeed, but graceful, unchanging, perennial, green. "Belphœbe is not a perfect woman. Her imperfection, however, is of a kind which makes her more admirable, though less interesting. In proportion as she is less womanly, she is more angelic. concealed fountain of the haughty Britomart, but a full, broad, generous stream of affection, through which pours every energy of her soul. Amoret is a being too earnest to be coy, too confiding to be jealous. She bestows her love, not as a boon to another, but as a necessary gratification to herself. Her love is twice blessed. It blesseth her that gives and him that takes. Her repose is not inward and within herself, but outward upon another. She experiences a high gratification in knowing that she is loved, but a still higher one in loving. There is in her love a fullness, strength, bounty, simplicity, and entireness, to which one of the very best historical parallels is to be found in the heart of Spenser himself, as poured forth in the Sonnets and the Epithalamium." The character of Scudamour, the accepted lover of the fair Amoret, is thus given by Pro fessor Hart. It is not only an appropriate pendant to the previous sketch, but is of itself a fine example of word painting. lording it over the other sex. The effect of this difference in the governing motive, shows itself in their whole characters. The one is a being refined, pure, serene. The other becomes coarse, turbulent, and base. The virgin snow, just fallen upon the frosty ground, might be the emblem of the one. The emblem of the other would be that same snow in a thaw, sullied with the warm breath of the south wind-unsightly and unsafe. Britomart's energy is that of a deep, rapid stream fed by springs; so clear is its current, you can hardly believe in its rapidity and its force, till you attempt to resist its progress. Radigund is a mountain torrent, swelled by heavy rains; violent and resistless, but turbid and devastating. Each of these women finds herself, unexpectedly, vulnerable. But this discovery in the case of Britomart, leads to the development of the crowning virtue of her charac "As the accepted lover of Amoret, the reader feels all along that Scudamour ought to be a noble and worthy knight. But it is not until we hear from his own mouth, this modest account of his exploit, that we understand and appreciate his real worth. His character has in it nothing to dazzle or astonish. It does not strike suddenly the imagination, but wins upon us by degrees, gaining successively our confidence, our sympathy, our admiration, our unreserved affection. He has not the thoughtful and solemn heroism of the Red-Cross Knight; nor yet the faultless, but somewhat insipid composure of Sir Guyon; he is at a still further remove from the cruel levity of Paridel and Blandamour. In his joys and his sorrows, his achievements and his perfections, his friendships and his love, heter, a noble affection for Artegal, which is equally comes more within the pale of human sympathies than any of the male characters in the Fairy Queen. He is indeed Spenser's idea of perfect Manhood, without superhuman endowments, or any extraordinary mission:-one to whom the heart goes out with a warm and inspiring confidence-a man having the masculine ability, the strength, moral and physical, which secures to him the entire respect of his own sex, while, to the woman of his choice, he gives a love deep, earnest, abiding, and unreserved-the counterpart and correlative of Amoret's love for him." There is perhaps a little too much of a generalizing tendency in the annexed sketch of the beautiful, but bold, bad woman, Radigund; but it is very vigorously drawn, nevertheless, and is a character such as would have befitted Rembrant to paint, and one which only a Siddons could have looked and acted to perfection. "This fierce Amazon is the woman whose character the reader is to solve. Her name is Radigund. She has some points in common with Britomart, if it be permitted to say that a woman so bad as Radigund, is like a woman so good as she of the "heben spear." There is in both a fearless self-reliance, a force and earnestness of character, a masculine energy of purpose, an entire ability to join in the rude encounter of life, of which there are few examples in any age or either sex. "But likeness is not identity. The points of difference between Britomart and Radigund are far greater than the points of similarity. Especially do they differ in the governing motive by which their energy is directed. The object of Britomart is to protect herself-to maintain her own independence, and that of her sex. Radigund's object is the contemptible ambition of worthy of its object and its subject—of him and of her. Radigund's wound, on the contrary, becomes a festering sore, irritating and unclean. "I have spoken of Radigund as coarse. Let not the expression be misinterpreted. It is moral, not physical coarseness, that is intended. She is represented as having youth, beauty, elegance of manners and appearance, and whatever else is necessary to make her a gentlewoman-except gentleness of purpose. Hers is a coarseness, not of brawn and bone, not even of intellect, but of heart-a vulgar thirst for revenge, and a paltry love of rule, not compatible with her true dignity as a woman. "Radigund represents a class of characters, rather than any single character. I know not that I can point to any one entire correlative in modern society. Some of her features may be seen in the miserable jilt, who trifles with the most serious interests this side of the grave, for the paltriest of all possible gratifications. A still more striking development of Radigund in modern society, may be seen in the domestic tyrant, whose aim is to govern her husband,-who, in common parlance, loves to wear the'-garment which I suppose must not be named." As an offset to the above we shall close our extracts with an analysis of the character of the gentle-hearted shepherdess, Pastorel. Taking it all in all, it is the most perfectly finished sketch in the whole book. "This old man, the foster-father of Pastorel, had found her, an infant, in the open fields, and having no other child, had nourished her as his own. Pastorel knew not that she was not his daughter. Neither Melibus, nor any of his neighbors, knew her real parentage; though in the exquisite native graces of her now budding womanhood, the practiced eye of one who had seen much of life, might detect evidences of gentle blood. The simple-minded shepherds and shepherdesses among whom she lived, did not, of course, enter into any such speculations about her. They only knew they loved her with a sort of affection which they never thought of entertaining toward one another, or toward any one else that they had ever known. She was among them, but not of them, a sweet and gentle being, meek, winning, pleasant to all; and, what is most difficult, giving no pain or offense, where she was obliged to withhold her love. She did not scorn those poor people. Why should she? They were her people. She had never known any other. In a certain sense, she loved them all-loved even Coridon, who so haplessly sued for her hand-she wished him well; she wished them all well-she was grateful for their thousand kindnesses. Those dear old people, father and mother as she believed them, she would have shed her heart's blood for them. And yet within that maiden's breast was a spring of emotion which had not been touched. The music of the soul goes out only to the touch of a kindred harmony. 'T was not that Pastorel despised the rustic garb or humble lot of her companions. Within her was a sense of the beautiful which found in them no correlative. Love is based upon admiration; it is a kind of idolatry; and there was in them nothing which she could idolize. Yet she was not discontented and fretful at her condition. She had known nothing in human character superior to what was around her, and probably was not conscious to herself of possessing, as she did, the capability of an emotion, exquisite as the rose in the sunbeam, yet delicate as the lily of the valley. The chemists will prepare you a compound, a sort of invisible ink, colorless at first, and giving to the casual beholder no evidence of the letters which with it you have traced upon the virgin paper. But once expose that paper to the heat or the light, and every mark and line becomes at once visible. Man knows not himself, till circumstances and occasions have brought out his latent capabilities and emotions. Pastorel was contented, for she was not conscious of the want which really existed within her bosom. She knew not the idolatrous admiration which could be excited in her mind, for the qualities calculated to call forth that admiration had never been presented to her-she knew not the ecstasy to which she could be raised, for no idol had yet been placed before the altar of her affections. It was not till the arrival of the gentle stranger, and the knowledge of his noble and gracious qualities, that she knew herself. "Pastorel, if I am correct in my analysis, is certainly a beautiful idea. The reader of the poem will find nothing more exquisite among all the creations of Spenser." The praiseworthy task which Professor Hart imposed upon himself, that of making the text of Spenser easy of comprehension by the modern reader, he has accomplished with a skill and success which leaves nothing to be desired. With this essay by our side, and the Faërie Queen, as Spenser wrote it, lying before us, all the difficulties which previously attended its perusal vanish like mist at sunrise, and we enter the world of the poet's creation with our vision cleared of its obstructing haze, and prepared to enjoy and properly appreciate the exquisite beauty of the scenes he has painted, and the personages he has introduced. We have indeed leisure for more than this, for we also have time to weigh considerately the high moral purpose involved in the allegory, and to relish, with undisturbed gratification, the noble lessons with which this grand poem abound. If Shakspeare is a king, in his own realm, Spenser, in his peculiar province, wears with no less grace and dignity the insignia of royalty. Each in his particular sphere reigns supreme, and without co-rival. Both are immortal names, and both worthy of that reverence with which the world now justly regards them. To many, Spenser's greatest work has been a sealed book. It need be so no longer. In this essay of Professor Hart will be found all that was before needed to a perfect comprehension of the meaning of the poet; and from this time henceforth no reader who desires to understand with ease to himself the Faerie Queen of Spenser should fail to avail himself of the essay, which forms its explanatory guide. SONNET.-SOMNUS. SOMNUS, thou son of Erebus and Night! When light thou hoverest o'er poor mortals' bed, The sorrower's aching eyelids now to close. Whose life, at best, is but the shortest span. W. A. ANNIE LIVINGSTONE. Nor far from the straggling village of Nethan | hours of rest and refreshment were occupied in Foot, in Clydesdale, stood, many years ago, a small cottage inhabited by a widow and her two daughters. Their poverty and misfortunes secured for them a certain degree of interest among their neighbors; but the peculiarities of the widow prevented much intercourse between the family and the inhabitants of the district. running down to the cottage, to see that Marian required nothing, that her mother had remembered to make the porridge, or having done so, had given Marian her share instead of devouring it all herself. But a want of care of her helpless daughter was not the only thing Annie had to dread from "daft Jeanie." The peculiar temper and disposition of her girlhood subsisted still, and no longer kept in check by intellect, displayed themselves in a thousand vagaries, which rendered her the laughing-stock of the village, and caused bitter mortification to her daughter. Once or twice Annie had ventured to interfere with her mother's modes of proceeding, but instead of doing good by her endeavors, she not only brought upon herself reproaches, curses, even blows, but by exciting the revenge In her youth" daft Jeanie," as she was called in the village, had been the belle of Nethan Foot; but by coquetry and love of admiration, she had excited great jealousy among the girls of the country side; and her success in securing the handsomest lad in the place as her husband had not tended to increase her popularity. Those days, however, had long passed away. A terrible calamity had befallen her; and one single night had deprived her at once of home and husband. A sudden flood, or "speat," of the river had in-ful cunning of madness, occasioned the perpetraundated their cottage; and in their endeavors to save the wreck of their furniture from destruction, her husband had lost his life, and her eldest daughter received such injuries as to leave her a helpless cripple for the rest of her days. Jeanie, never very strong-minded, broke down completely under these accumulated misfortunes; and though her bodily health was restored after the fever which followed, she rose up from her sick-bed an idiot, or rather what is called in Scotland "daft," that peculiar state of mind between idiocy and mania. The charity of a neighboring proprietor gave her a cottage rent free, the Nethan Foot people gave what help they could in furnishing it, but they were themselves too poor to do more, so that the whole support of her helpless mother and sister devolved on Annie Livingstone, the younger daughter, a handsome girl of fifteen years of age. It is only by living among the peasantry of Scotland that we learn fully to appreciate the warm heart and heroic self-sacrifices which are often concealed under their calm exterior and apparent coldness of manner; and no one unacquainted with her previous history could have guessed that Anne Livingstone, the blythest haymaker, the best reaper, the hardest worker in the field or house, the most smiling, cheerful, and best-conducted girl in the valley of the Nethan, had some sorrows which fall to the lot of few in this world. Day after day she had to leave her bed-ridden sister alone and untended to seek a scanty means of subsistence for the family in out-of-doors labor; while more than half of her tion of malicious tricks, which greatly added to her previous annoyances. It was wonderful that in such circumstances the young girl contrived to keep her temper and good spirits; but she was well-principled and strong-minded, and as she sometimes said when the neighbors pitied her for what she had to bear-" Eh, woman! but the back is made for the burden; and He that has seen fit to gie me heavy trials has gi'en me also a stout heart and braid shouthers to bear them. And better than all, He has given me my ain dear Mair'n to be a help and comfort to me in all my difficulties." "A help, lassie? A hindrance you mean." "No, woman, a help. Gude kens my spirit would fail me out and out if I had na Mair'n to keep me up-to read to me out of the Lord's book-for you ken I am no a great scollard mysel'-and to learn me bonnie psalms and hymns to sing when I am dowie (disheartened)." The picture displayed by these simple words was a touching one; but much more touching was the reality of Annie's devotion to Marian When her day's labor was over, she hurried back to her poverty-stricken home; and having swept out and dusted the kitchen, and set on the kettle for tea-an indulgence which she labored hard to afford the invalid-she would creep up the ladder-like stair to the loft, which was her sister's sleeping chamber, and, wrapping her in an old shawl, would carry her carefully down stairs, place her in her own peculiar chair, and wait upon her with the tenderness of a sister and the watchfulness of a slave. When tea was over, the open Bible was laid on of rapidity, that the Irish reapers had not yet made their appearance in the neighborhood, it was announced throughout the vale of Nethan, that if every man, woman, and child in the dis the table; a splinter of the clear cannel coal of the country, which the very poor of the district frequently use instead of candles, was set on the upper bar of the grate; and by its flickering light the two sisters would spend the evening to-trict did not aid in getting in the harvest, half gether, the younger employed in darning and the crop would be lost. Now, as David Caldwell, patching their well-worn garments, the elder in the tenant of Blinkbonnie farm, was a great reading to her from the holy volume. Mean-favorite in the neighborhood, everybody who while, daft Jeanie" would wander in and out, backward and forward, sometimes amusing herself with playing spiteful tricks on Annie-to whom, as years went by, she seemed to take a strange antipathy-sometimes sitting cowered up on the hearth, maundering and moaning, and, in spite of their efforts to the contrary, producing the most depressing effect upon her daughters' spirits. At such times it was useless to try to induce her to go to bed; her natural perversity seemed to find pleasure in refusing to do so, till Annie, worn out by her hard day's work, was ready to fall asleep in her chair, and was yet unable to go to bed till she had seen her mother safely in hers. In spite of these disadvantages, however, Annie grew up a handsome, cheerful girl, respected by all who knew her, and dearly loved by those who were intimate with her. But she had very few intimates. She had no leisure to waste in idle gossip; she could not spend an evening hour in rambling by the sparkling Nethan water, or by the banks of the stately Clyde; no one ever found her loitering in the hay-field after the sun went down; no one ever met her at a kirn (harvest-home) or other rural gayety; and even on "Saturday at e'en" she would hurry home to Marian, rather than join the group of merry lads and lassies gathered round the village well. Marian was her one engrossing thought-to be with her, her greatest happiness; and no holyday pleasure could in her eyes equal the delight she felt when, on a summer Sabbath afternoon, she carried her helpless charge in her arms to the top of Dykiebutt's field, and let her look at the trees, the skies, and the rushing water, listen to the song of the lark as it fluttered in the blue ether above them, or to the mavis singing in the old apple-tree that hung its branches so temptingly over the orchard wall. But a time came when what had hitherto been Annie's greatest pleasure, was put in competition with one far greater; when the heart that had lavished so much affection on her crippled sister, and had stood steady in filial duty to a selfish and lunatic mother, was subjected to a trying ordeal. One eventful year, when an early spring and intensely hot summer had caused the cornfields of Blinkbonnie to ripen with such unheard could handle a sickle responded to his appeal, and made quite a "ploy" (fête) of going to shear at Blinkbonnie. Marian Livingstone had been so great a sufferer that season, that Annie had given up farm-labor for "sewing-work," as she called embroidery, that she might be more at home with her sister, and secure a larger income; but sedentary employments were so repugnant to her naturally active habits, that she rejoiced at the necessity which forced her to join the reapers, for David Caldwell himself had asked her to come, and he and his family had been too steadily kind to Marian for her to refuse such a request, even had she wished it. But she did not wish it; and she was among the first of the reapers who appeared at the farm. Blinkbonnie was, as its name suggests, a very pretty place. Situated on the slope of a gentle hill that faced the south, it was the earliest farm in that part of Clydesdale; and as the winding river bathed the foot of the hill, and the woods of Craignethan clothed the opposite bank, it was also a favorite resort of the young people of the neighborhood, who found a drink of May Caldwell's buttermilk, or a bite of her pease-meal scones, a very pleasant conclusion to their evening strolls. In short, Blinkbonnie was as popular a place as the Caldwells were popular people, and everybody did their utmost to get in the corn quickly. As we have said, Annie Livingstone was a good hand at the "heuk," or sickle; it was therefore natural that the best " bandster," or binder of sheaves; should be selected for the part of the field where she was; and much rural mirth and wit were shown in the endeavors of two very different people to secure this honorable title, and its attendant position. They were Alick Caldwell, the farmer's brother, a journeyman carpenter of Nethan Foot, and Jamie Ross, the blacksmith, who had been friendly rivals all their lives, and were so in the present instance; but Annie was by general vote chosen umpire between them, and she gave judgment in Alick's favor. In those days the Clydesdale lasses wore the old Scottish peasant-dress of the short-gown and petticoat, one which is, we fear, almost exploded, but which was as becoming as it was convenient. In it many a girl, who would have looked commonplace in modern costume, appeared piquant, |