When knowledge was confined to a few, and applied principally to the acquisition of languages, which are merely the external forms of thought, men were pedantic, and women were the same; for the correspondence between the character of the sexes is as intimate, as the affections and thoughts of the same individual. In these days, when knowledge is obtained to be applied to use,--when even that pretty and ever-varying toy, the kaleidoscope, is used to furnish new patterns at carpet-manufactories,--female literature is universally more or less practical. Modern female writers are generally known to be women who can make a pudding, embroider a collar, or dance a cotillion, as well as their neighbors. It is no longer deemed a mark of intellect to despise the homelier duties, or lighter graces of the social system. This will, in time, probably make men more liberal with regard to female learning. A writer in the time of Charles the First says, “She that knoweth how to compound a pudding is more desirable than she who skilfully compoundeth a poem. A female poet I mislike at all times.” Within the last century it has been gravely asserted that “chemistry enough to keep the pot boiling, and geography enough to know the location of the different rooms in her house, is learning sufficient for a woman.” Byron, who was too sensual to conceive of a pure and perfect companionship between the sexes, would limit a woman’s library to a Bible and a cookery book. All this is poor philosophy and miserable wit. It is on a par with the dictatorial assertions of the Austrian emperor, that his people will be better subjects, and far more happy, if they are not allowed to learn to read. One of the most striking characteristics of modern times is the tendency toward a universal dissemination of knowledge in all Protestant communities. It is now a very common thing for women to be well versed in the popular sciences, and to know other languages than their own; and this circumstance, independent of the liberality and sincerity induced by true knowledge, has very perceptibly diminished the tendency to literary affectation. Pedantry is certainly not the vice of modern times; yet the old prejudice still lurks in the minds of men, who ought to be ashamed of it. It is by no means easy to find a man so magnanimous, as to be perfectly willing that a woman should know more than himself, on any subject except dress and cookery. That women are more fond of ornament than men is probably true; but I doubt whether there is so much difference between the personal vanity of the sexes, as has been imagined. Dandies are a large class, if not a respectable one. No maiden lady was ever more irritable under a sense of personal deformity than were Pope and Byron; and Bonaparte was quite as vain of his small foot, as Madam de Staël of her beautiful arms.