In a recent issue, H. P. B. gave us an excellent article on this topic, and embodied in it a very familiar poetic quotation, which reminds me of another of the same character. Before giving it, however, permit me to make a few prefatory remarks. For the past twenty years, or more, it has been a part of my mission to teach good and wholesome truths by poetical recitations, as an amateur, believing with good George Herbert, that
A verse may find him whom a sermon flies,
And turn delight into a sacrifice.
Some author has said, "Poetry is the blossom and fragrance of all human knowledge—all human thoughts, passions, and emotion." Our own Emerson has added, "Poetry in the only verity." Several years ago, I found a bit of blank verse afloat on the great newspaper sea, written by a clergyman, then residing in Western New York. There was much in it that I admired, but it seemed unfinished and one-sided, all masculinity and no femininity,—like the idea of heaven found in the Hebrew Scriptures, having only masculine angels; when, in fact, the world is full of feminine angels,—and heaven, too, for aught I know. So, at the risk of spoiling the recitation, I determined to improve it, by weaving in, here and there, a word for our brave, good sisters, who are working with might and main to bring about
