Lord Byron has drawn an elegant poetic comparison of the allurements of the blue-winged butterfly of Kashmeer, to those of female beauty on the heart of man:

As rising on its purple wing,

The insect queen of eastern spring,
O'er emerald meadows of Kashmeer
Invites the young pursuer near,
And leads him on from flower to flower,
A weary chase and wasted hour.
Then leaves him, as it soars on high
With panting heart and tearful eye :-
So beauty lures the full-grown child,
With hue as bright, and wing as wild

The following portrait of a female is most pleasingly drawn:

She was beautiful!—her face

Was flush'd with an angelic grace;
The amorous sun had woo'd it too,
And touch'd it with a richer hue;
But those who gaz'd might well declare
They could not wish that face more fair.
Her locks of hyacinthine brown
O'er the white brow hung loosely down;
Contrasting in the shades they throw,
With the blue, loving eyes below.
And in those eyes there shone a ray,
That like a sweet consuming fire,
Thrill'd every soul with chaste desire,
Yet kept all evil things away.
They who but slightly view'd had said
Pride was her intimate, for tall
She was-and, in her lightest tread,
Mov'd like a princess; but of all
That seeming loftiness, the key
Was an inborn nobility;

The spirit's fire, the crowning charm
Of a mind exquisitely warm:

In whose unsullied leaf was wrought
All that was delicate in thought,

And beautiful in deed; with these

She sought all living things to please.

WIFFEN.'

Moore's description of Henda, the daughter of an

Arab, is beautiful:

Light as the angel shapes that bless,
An infant's dream, yet not the less
Rich in all woman's loveliness;-
With eyes so pure, that, from their ray,
Dark vice would turn abash'd away,
Blinded like serpents, when they gaze
Upon the emerald's virgin blaze !—
Yet, fill'd with all youth's sweet desires,
Mingling the meek and vestal fires
Of other worlds with all the bliss,
The fond weak tenderness, of this!
A soul, too, more than half divine,
Where, through some shades of earthly feeling,
Religion's soften'd glorics shine,
The light through summer foliage stealing,
Shedding a glow of such mild hue,
So warm, and yet so shadowy too,
As makes the very darkness there

More beautiful than light elsewhere!

Addison, who had always the welfare of the fair sex at heart, gives the following description of an interesting female:

"Behold that charming virgin; behold the beauty of her person, chastened by the innocence of her thoughts. Chastity, good-nature, and affability, are the graces that play in her countenance; she knows she is handsome, but she knows she is good. Conscious, beauty, adorned with conscious virtue! What a spirit is there in those eyes! What a bloom in that person! How is the whole woman expressed in her appearance! Her air has the beauty of motion, and her look the force of language."

Damon's protestation of love to. Stella, by Montaigne, is pleasing:

When I thee all o'r do view,

I all o'r must love thee too,

By that smooth forehead, where's, exprest

The candour of thy peaceful breast-
By those fair twin-like stars that shine,
And by those apples of thine eyn-
By the lambkins, and the kids,
Playing 'bout thy fair eie-lids-
By each peachie blossom'd cheek,
And thy satin skin, more sleek,
And white than Flora's whitest lillies,

Or the maiden daffadillies

By that ivorie porch, thy nose-
By those double-blanched rows
Of teeth, as in pure coral set-
By each azure rivolet

Running in thy temples, and

Those flowrie meadows 'twixt them stand-
By each pearl-tipt ear by nature, as
On each a jewel pendant was-
By those lips, all dew'd with bliss,
Made happy in each other's kiss.

Anacreon says, that nature bestowed beauty on woman as more potent in conquest than the sword and the spear, and more effective in defence than the armour and the shield. This beauty, which the refined voluptuary celebrated as triumphant and resistless in the person of woman, may, without flattery, be ascribed to her mind. The affections of the female sex are far stronger and more ardent than our own; and, had it till then been disputable, the countless instances of their heroic conduct, during the French revolution, recorded on most unquestionable authority, have settled this fact for ever: no personal fatigue could overcome them, and no personal danger could for an instant deter them from seeking, in the foulest dungeons, the father or the child, the husband or the lover. Months after months were they known to secrete from revolutionary vengeance some object of their affection, when the discovery of his concealment would have been his inevitable and immediate death. Were a friend arrested, their ingenuity never relaxed a moment in contrivances for his escape: were he naked, they clothed him: were he sick, they visited him; and, when all efforts proved unavailing for his deliverance, often did they infuse into his sinking soul their own ability to meet death with fortitude, and even with cheerfulness. During infancy, they nourish us; during the periods of youth and manhood, they are the charm of our existence: in old age, they cherish and console us; and, on the bed of sickness, the exquisite delicacy of their attentions, the tiresome watchings which they will undergo without a murmur,

the fretfulness which they will bear with complacency, and the good offices (however repulsive) which they are at all times ready to perform, demand from us more than every return of attachment, gratitude, kindness, and love, which it is in our power to make. This is that all-powerful beauty which nature gives to woman; this is that beauty which indeed turns the edge of the sword, and makes the spear fall pointless.

The following description of a female is given by Brettell, in his Country Minister :—

Sweet as the wild rose in its native vale,
Like that, her cheek was delicately pale;
Blending the lily's with the rose's hue:
Her eye was softly tender, large, and blue,
And from its beaming orb of liquid light,
Like moon-beams gliding thro' the shades of night,
The glancing rays thro' long fair lashes stole,
In melting radiance darting from the soul:
Around her polish'd brow, and lovely face,
Bright auburn tresses hung with untaught grace,
And, unconfin'd, in nature's beauteous swell,
O'er her fair neck in soft luxuriance fell:
Her form, tho' low, was graceful, and the wing
Of rising lark, not lighter than the spring
Of her elastic foot, whose airy bound

Scarce seem'd to touch the slightly-printed ground:
In every step the watchful eye might trace
The unaffected air of native grace,

With all those modest artless charms that wind
Around the heart, and speak the spotless mind.

Such is the mighty influence of beauty, that,

Whatever warms the breast

With noble purpose, what informs the heart
To melt, and moulds it into social man,
Is beauty's power. From her, poetic heat
Derives new fire, and, taught by her, oft paints
The visionary scene, and touches all

The springs of passion! Her's each winning grace,
Each comely gesture her's. E'en frozen age,
Bending to earth beneath the weight of years,
With wrinkled front, and venerable hair,
Melts at her fair approach; he feels warm blood
Run through his wither'd veins; erect he lifts

His hoary head, and on his aged brow
Unusual gladness smiles.

Of beauty, it may indeed be said,

Her's is the boast unrivall'd, to enslave

The great, the wise, the witty, and the brave.

But every virtuous, chaste, and prudent character will endeavour to guard against the fascinating power of beauty's charms, lest it should gain such an empire over the heart as to produce that wild and insane passion demonstrated romantic love :

Beauty was sent from heaven,

The lovely minister of truth and good

In this our world; for truth and good are one,
And beauty dwells in them, and they in her,
With like participation. Wherefore, then,
O sons of earth! would you dissolve the tie?
Or, wherefore, with a rash impetuous aim,
Seek those romantic joys, with which the hand
Of lavish fancy paints each flattering scene
Where beauty seems to dwell; nor once inquire,
Where is the sanction of eternal truth,

Or where the seal of undeceitful good,

To save your search from folly? Wanting these,
Lo! beauty withers in your void embrace;

And, with the glittering of an ideot's toy,

Fond fancy mocks your vows!

Chaste and pure Love sweetens every scene of human life:

Yes, sweetest power! o'er every scene benign,
Thy smiles expand, thy dear suffusions shine;
And, from the cheek when nature's roses fly,

Chase health's light blush, and dim the humid eye,
Thy balmy incense heals the canker'd woe,
And in the eye thy beams of comfort glow.
Not all the argent mines of proud display,
Where rich Potosi boasts her central day-
Not the ripe seeds, which tinge with tawny ore
The wealthy sands of Gambia's golden shore-
Not all the cluster'd gems, whose priceless rays
With envied fires Golconda's depths emblaze-
Can mould, like Love, the inexpressive charm
That heaves the heart, and beats the sweet alarm;
Or, o'er the chequer'd paths of life, diffuse
One ray, to mimic Love's harmonious hues.

STEWART.