In any notice of Mrs Hemans' works, not to mention _The Records of Woman_ would seem an unaccountable omission. Both the subject, and the manner in which it is treated especially characterise our poetess. Of all these _Records_ there is not one where the picture is not more or less pleasing, or drawn with more or less power and fidelity. Estimated according to sheer literary merit, it would perhaps be impossible to give the preference to any one of them. Judging by the peculiar pleasure which its perusal gave us, we should select, for our favourite, _The Switzer's Wife_. Werner Stauffacher was one of the three confederates of the field of Grutli. He had been marked out by the Austrian bailiff as a fit subject for pillage; but it was to the noble spirit of his wife that he owed the final resolution he took to resist the oppressor of his country. The whole scene is brought before us with singular distinctness. It is a beautiful evening in the Alpine valley,-- For Werner sat beneath the linden tree, That sent its lulling whispers through his door, Even as man sits, whose heart alone would be With some deep care, and thus can find no more Th' accustomed joy in all which evening brings Gathering a household with her quiet wings. His wife stood hushed before him, sad, yet mild In her beseeching mien,--he marked it not. The silvery laughter of his bright-haired child Rang from the greensward round the sheltered spot, But seemed unheard; until at last the boy Raised from his heaped up flowers a glance of joy, And met his father's face; but then a change Passed swiftly o'er the brow of infant glee, And a quiet sense of something dimly strange Brought him from play to stand beside the knee So often climbed, and lift his loving eyes, That shone through clouds of sorrowful surprise. Then the proud bosom of the strong man shook; But tenderly his babe's fair mother laid Her hand on his, and with a pleading look Through tears half-quivering, o'er him bent and said, "What grief, dear friend, hath made thy heart its prey, That thou shouldst turn thee from our love away? "It is too sad to see thee thus, my friend! Mark'st thou the wonder on thy boy's fair brow, Missing the smile from thine? Oh, cheer thee! bend To his soft arms, unseal thy thoughts e'en now! Thou dost not kindly to withhold the share Of tried affection in thy secret care." He looked up into that sweet earnest face, But sternly, mournfully: not yet the band Was loosened from his soul. He then tells how the oppressor's envious eye "had been upon his heritage," and to-morrow eve might find him in chains. The blood leaves her cheek, and she leans back on the linden stem, but only for a moment; the free Alpine spirit wakes within her--