TO THE MEMORY OF A FRIEND. 283 



St. Julien never saw her more. 



On closing these volumes, we have fallen into a train of reflections 

 on the probable consequences likely to result to future generations, 

 should the doctrine of which Madame Dudevant has thus strenuously 

 proclaimed herself to be the apostle, be propagated with success. 



If, indeed, the female sex is to be aroused to a sense of the certainty 

 of its " all hail hereafter;" if that delicate portion of humanity which 

 has hitherto been content with the quiet obscurity of the fire-side, is 

 to rise and vindicate its dormant energies ; if it is fated to effect the 

 recognition of its boasted equality with the " lords of the creation," 

 and its emancipation from the domestic thraldom in which it has been 

 so long and so unjustly held, what a mighty revolution must be 

 wrought in the whole frame-work of society ! what new and curious 

 combinations must spring from so momentous at event ! Speculation 

 shrinks aghast from the contemplation of their infinite variety and 

 novelty. 



We may all have read of the terrible inscription erected by Fon- 

 seca on the route of Torre del Greco Posteri, posteri veslra res agitur. 

 Torre del Greco is no more but the prophetic stone still bears aloft 

 its awful warning. 



In the same spirit do we say to the men of future generations, be- 

 ware of the growing rivalry of the " sex/' The voice of the prophet 

 may be disregarded in his own times, but future generations will ac- 

 knowledge his claims to superior sagacity. Many an honest man has 

 derived consolation in public calamity from the consciousness of his 

 having been the first to predict its occurrence. 



And it is, therefore, with no slight satisfaction, that we congratulate 

 ourselves on our seer-like qualifications, in thus predicting that our 

 already tottering power will at no very remote period, be utterly 

 overthrown by the unmasked energies and daring genius of our 

 hitherto patient, but long-enduring helpmate. 



TO THE MEMORY OF A FRIEND. 



How all falls softly on the list'ning ear, 



When evening shades involve the silent sky ! 

 Then down my cheek still steals the pitying tear, 



As to yon gloomy woods I lonely hie ; 

 What time the moon its mellow sweetness flings 



O'er the low bed where sleeps my early friend ; 

 Thus summon'd with the haste of friendship's wings, 



To fancy's eye the scene his form doth lend, 

 While, spell-bound to the spot, I pensive pause, 



To think of him who charm'd my spring of life, 

 Snatch'd in his bloom, by Nature's ruthless laws. 



Like the moon's rays, which shun day's boist'rous strife, 

 And with a soothing calm night's scenes invest, 

 So beams a radiance o'er the dead's long rest. R. 



