MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 435 



residing, though the Roman Catholic population of the parish was very 

 numerous, I have had full opportunity of witnessing the impolicy," 

 &c. &c. 



Colonial Policy. Cochrane and Co., London. 

 We are glad to see this pamphlet. Its contents were in some degree a 

 portion of the last " Monthly." It is full of sound views, and deserves 

 careful attention. 



Poems of the Hon. W. R. SPENCER ; with a Biographical Memoir. 

 Cochrane and Co., London. 



Mr. Spencer was one of those talented and happy-minded men, who 

 seem to be born to show how bright and beautiful human life may be. 

 From earliest boyhood to his death-bed he lived in society, scattering 

 the wealth of his rich and cultivated mind upon all that came within his 

 reach. His poems have been before published ; but they now come before 

 us enriched by an accompanying Memoir, from one who knew him well, 

 and who appears to be imbued with some of the fine poetical feeling 

 and pure philosophy of the gifted individual whose life she has written. 

 Did not the late period of the month, when the sheets were put into our 

 hands, prevent us, we should extract freely from this portion of the work. 

 It is beautifully and purely written, and abounds in sound and occa- 

 sionally in novel views of society ; and it breathes, withal, a spirit of true 

 Christianity. 



The following lines on a Lady's Birth-day, who requested it not to be 

 kept because it cost her mother her life, are finely conceived. Many of the 

 poems are full of sweetness and delicacy ; and the volume is one that 

 cannot fail to be highly appreciated, not only in the circle in which the 

 distinguished author moved, but by readers in general. 

 " Fear not, sweet girl, that with irreverent mirth 



I hail the solemn day which gave thee birth : 



Much as I loved thy playful smiles before, 



This day I love thy sacred sorrows more ! 



No beam of joy unhallow'd shall invade 



The dim religion of that cypress shade, 



Where on this day thy filial soul retires, 



Not unattended Saints and Angel-choirs 



Their harpings jubilant to dirges turn, 



Whilst orphan beauty clasps a parent's urn ! 



Orphan I call thee when I see thy youth 



Plumed high with hope, with innocence, and truth, 



Tower into life, and in its flight rejoice 



Oh ! Where 's thy guiding lure a mother's voice ! 



And if, while soaring with unpractised force, 



Disaster reach thee in thy venturous course, 



Worn by the storm, or wounded by the dart, 



Oh ! where 's thy resting-place a Mother's heart ! 



Closed were her eyes in Death's untimely night 



Ere yet thy infant gracesfbless'd her sight ; 



Mute was her voice, and cold her heart for thee, 



Ere yet thy guide or shelter they could be ! 



Spared were ye both from one severer woe, 



Nor Child, nor Parent, all they lost, could know; 



How hadst thou niourn'd, if Fate had call'd her hence, 



When all her love had charm'd thy ripan'd sense ! 



How had she mourn'd in dying to resign 



A mother's ecstacy at charms like thine !" 



