omen of the eighteenth century, not only by her mental
powers, but by her goodness of heart, her self-sacrificing devotion, and
true friendship.' An interesting sequel to her Memoirs would be her
correspondence with Voltaire, and it is to be hoped that we may shortly
see a translation of these letters from the same accomplished pen to
which we owe the present volume. {198}

* * * * *

Women's Voices is an anthology of the most characteristic poems by
English, Scotch and Irish women, selected and arranged by Mrs. William
Sharp. 'The idea of making this anthology,' says Mrs. Sharp, in her
preface, 'arose primarily from the conviction that our women-poets had
never been collectively represented with anything like adequate justice;
that the works of many are not so widely known as they deserve to be; and
that at least some fine fugitive poetry could be thus rescued from
oblivion'; and Mrs. Sharp proceeds to claim that the 'selections will
further emphasise the value of women's work in poetry for those who are
already well acquainted with English Literature, and that they will
convince many it is as possible to form an anthology of "pure poetry"
from the writings of women as from those of men.' It is somewhat
difficult to define what 'pure poetry' really is, but the collection is
certainly extremely interesting, extending, as it does, over nearly three
centuries of our literature. It opens with Revenge, a poem by the
'learned, virtuous, and truly noble Ladie,' Elizabeth Carew, who
published a Tragedie of Marian, the faire Queene of Iewry, in 1613, from
which Revenge is taken. Then come some very pretty verses by Margaret,
Duchess of Newcastle, who produced a volume of poems in 1653. They are
supposed to be sung by a sea-goddess, and their fantastic charm and the
graceful wilfulness of their fancy are well worthy of note, as these
first stanzas show:

My cabinets are oyster-shells,
In which I keep my Orient pearls;
And modest coral I do wear,
Which blushes when it touches air.

On silvery waves I sit and sing,
And then the fish lie listening:
Then resting on a rocky stone
I comb my hair with fishes' bone;

The whilst Apollo with his beams
Doth dry my hair from soaking streams,
His light doth glaze the water's face,
And make the sea my looking-glass.

Then follow Friendship's Mystery, by 'The Matchless Orinda,' Mrs.
Katherine Philips; A Song, by Mrs. Aphra Behn, 'the first E