What sympathies up-springing fast Through all the future, all the past, In tenderest links began to bind Spirit to spirit, mind to mind, As we, together wandering o'er The little volume's precious store, Mused, with alternate smile and tear, On the high themes awakened here Of fervent hope, of calm belief, Of cheering joy, of chastening grief, The trials borne, the sins forgiven, The task on earth, the meed in heaven. My Own! oh surely from above Was shed that confidence of love, Which in such happy moments nurst When soul with soul had converse first, Now through the snares and storms of life Blesses the husband and the wife! W. M. PRAED. SENT WITH POEMS Little volume, warm with wishes, Fear not brows that never frown! After Byron's peppery dishes Matho's mild skim-milk goes down. Change she wants not, self-concentered, She whom Attic graces please, She whose Genius never entered Literature's gin-palaces. W. S. LANDOR. WOMAN AND BOOKS Hear them [books] speak for themselves.... 'We are expelled with heart and hand from the domiciles of the clergy, apportioned to us by hereditary right, in some interior chamber of which we had our peaceful cells: but, to their shame, in these nefarious times we are altogether banished to suffer opprobrium out of doors; our places, moreover, are occupied by hounds and hawks, and sometimes by a biped beast; woman to wit,--whose cohabitation was formerly shunned by the clergy, from whom we have ever taught our pupils to fly, more than from the asp and the basilisk; wherefore this beast, ever jealous of our studies, and at all times implacable, spying us at last in a corner, protected only by the web of some long-deceased spider, drawing her forehead into wrinkles, laughs us to scorn, abuses us in virulent speeches, points us out as the only superfluous furniture lodged in the whole house; complains that we are useless for any purpose of domestic economy whatever, and recommends our being bartered away forthwith for costly head-dresses, cambric, silk, twice-dipped purple garments, woollen, linen, and furs.'--R. DE BURY. _Philobiblon._ THE GHOST OF BETTY BARNES