"I see the sparkling snow;

I view the mountain tops ;
I mark the frozen lake below,
Or the dark, rugged rocks.

"How truly grand the scene!
The giant trees are bare,
No fertile meadows intervene,
No hillocks fresh and fair;

"But the cloud-capp'd mountains rise,
Crown'd with purest whiteness,
And mingle with the skies,

That shine with azure brightness.

"And solitude, that friend so dear
To each reflecting mind,
Her residence has chosen here

To soothe the heart refined.'

- pp. 191, 192.

The following was written three years later, at the age of eleven. It is from a poem called "Boabdil el Chico's Farewell to Granada."

"The exiled monarch slowly turn'd away ;

He could not bear to view those towers again,
Which proudly glitter'd in the sun's last ray,
As if to mock their wretched master's pain.
His weeping bride press'd trembling near his form,
While sobs convulsive heav'd her snowy breast;
But proud Ayxa bade their sorrows cease,

With scornful glances which she scarce represt.
"Chide me not, mother,' cried the mourning son,
'Nor charge me with unmanly weakness now;
I grieve that Spain the royal prize has won,

That proud Granada to her kings should bow.'
He paused, and turn'd aside his glowing cheek;
His wandering eyes Alhambra's palace met:
Those splendid domes, those towers for ever lost,
Lost, when the sun of Moorish glory set.

"Yes! yonder towering spires are seized by Spain,
Their king an exile from his native land;
Shall I ne'er view thy princely courts again,
But yield resistless to the victor's brand.

66

'Yes, thou art gone! thine ancient splendors fled; O'er thy gay towers the shroud of slavery thrown ; Thy proudest chiefs, thy noblest warriors dead,

And all thy pride and all thy glory gone.

"Farewell to Alhambra, dear home of my childhood!
Farewell to the land I so proudly have cherish'd!
Farewell to the streamlet, the glen, and the wild-wood,
The throne of my fathers whose glory has perish'd!
'Neath the crest of Nevada the bright sun is setting,
And tinging with gold yonder beautiful river,

And his rays seem to linger, as if half-regretting

They must leave the clear waves where so sweetly they quiver.

Farewell, thou bright valley! I leave thee with sorrow;
Thou wilt smile as serene 'neath the sun of the morrow;
But thine ill-fated monarch shall view thee no more,
He ne'er shall revisit thy beautiful shore.'

He paused, and the accents of heart-rending grief
Were borne by the wind past each murmuring leaf."

pp. 223, 224.

The following, written at the age of fourteen, is interesting, not only from its poetical merit, but as showing how early the vague and melancholy aspirations of genius and sensibility found a place in her heart.

66

FRAGMENT.

'O, I have gazed on forms of light,
Till life seemed ebbing in a tear,
Till in that fleeting space of sight,
Were merged the feelings of a year.

"And I have heard the voice of song,
Till my full heart gush'd wild and free,
And my rapt soul would float along
As if on waves of melody.

"But while I glow'd at beauty's glance,
I long'd to feel a deeper thrill,
And while I heard that dying strain,
I sigh'd for something sweeter still.

"I have been happy, and my soul

Free from each sorrow, care, regret,

Yet ever in those hours of bliss,

I long'd to find them happier yet. "Oft o'er the darkness of my mind,

Some meteor thought has glanced at will,
'Twas bright, but ever have I sigh'd
To find a fancy brighter still.

Why are these restless, vain desires,

Which always grasp at something more
To feed the spirit's hidden fires,

Which burn unseen, unnoticed soar?

"Well might the heathen sage have known
That earth must fail the soul to bind,
That life, and life's tame joys alone,
Could never chain the ethereal mind."

pp. 268, 269.

The following was written at the same age, and has all the smoothness and easy flow of a practised writer;

TWILIGHT.

"TWILIGHT! sweet hour of peace,
Now art thou stealing on;

Cease from thy tumult, thought! and fancy, cease!
Day and its cares have gone!
Mysterious hour,

Thy magic power

Steals o'er my heart like music's softest tone.

"The golden sunset hues
Are fading in the west;

The gorgeous clouds their brighter radiance lose,
Folded on evening's breast.

So doth each wayward thought,
From fancy's altar caught,

Fade like thy tints, and muse itself to rest.

"Cold must that bosom be,

Which never felt thy power,

Which never thrill'd with tender melody

At this bewitching hour;

When nature's gentle art

Enchains the pensive heart;

When the breeze sinks to rest, and shuts the fragrant

flower.

"It is the hour for pensive thought,
For memory of the past,

For sadden'd joy, for chasten'd hope
Of brighter scenes at last ;

The soul should raise

Its hymn of praise,

That calm so sweet on life's dull stream is cast.

"Wearied with care, how sweet to hail
Thy shadowy, calm repose,

When all is silent but the whispering gale
Which greets the sleeping rose;
When, as thy shadows blend,

The trembling thoughts ascend,

And borne aloft, the gates of heaven unclose.

"Forth from the warm recess
The chain'd affections flow,

And peace, and love, and tranquil happiness.
Their mingled joys bestow;
Charm'd by thy mystic spell,

The purer feelings swell,

The nobler powers revive, expand, and glow."

pp. 272, 273.

Her own writings occupy about two hundred pages, and among them is a well-constructed, gracefully versified tale of two cantos, and occupying about fifty pages, called "Lenore," written in the last year of her life. From the memoir it appears that much of what she wrote has not been printed, and that she also found time to make considerable progress in a great variety of studies; and all this is comprised within the space of a little more than fifteen years. Have the annals of recorded genius any thing to show more remarkable than this?

ART. VI. Organic Chemistry in its Applications to Ag-
riculture and Physiology, by JUSTUS LIEBIG, M. D.,
Ph. D., F. R. S., M. R. I. A., &c. Professor of
Chemistry in the University of Giessen. Edited from

the Manuscript of the Author, by LYON PLAYFAIR, Ph.
D. First American Edition, with an Introduction,
Notes, and Appendix, by JOHN W. WEBSTER, M. D.,
Professor of Chemistry in Harvard University. Cam-
bridge John Owen. 1841. 12mo.
pp. 436.

THIS treatise makes a contribution to the cause of an improved Agriculture, of extraordinary value. It has been received with great interest in England, and will be read with equal eagerness by a large portion of our own people. Intelligent minds among us are everywhere awake to the immense and universal importance of the subject to which it relates. As a practical art, involving necessarily the existence of all other arts, and directly the uses and aids of many of them, the importance of the agricultural art cannot be overestimated. In an economical and political view, with the exception of the intellectual and moral interests of the community, which are also in some degree in abeyance to it, it is obviously by far the most important of all its interests, the department of its industry which most deserves the attention of the patriot, the philosopher, and the philanthropist, as the means of subsistence, and comfort, and the foundation of national wealth. Extensive as are the commercial enterprise and the manufacturing industry of Great Britain, yet her agricultural interests far transcend them. In France, more than one hundred and twenty million pounds of sugar are annually produced from the soil, where, little more than thirty years since, not a pound was grown; to say nothing of her products in silk and wine, which are in proportion. It is easy to see what a stake she has in agriculture. In China, a nation almost exclusively agricultural, for her various manufactures are mainly concerned in the products of her agriculture, where, besides her vast exports, more than three hundred and thirty millions of people are subsisted upon these products, we gather some impression of the immense importance of this art. There, likewise, the art has been carried to a higher perfection than in any other part of the