THE CELEBRATED WOMAN.

AN EPISTLE BY A MARRIED MAN--TO A FELLOW-SUFFERER.

[In spite of Mr. Carlyle's assertion of Schiller's "total deficiency
in humor," [12] we think that the following poem suffices to show that
he possessed the gift in no ordinary degree, and that if the aims of a
genius so essentially earnest had allowed him to indulge it he would
have justified the opinion of the experienced Iffland as to his
capacities for original comedy.]

Can I, my friend, with thee condole?--
Can I conceive the woes that try men,
When late repentance racks the soul
Ensnared into the toils of hymen?
Can I take part in such distress?--
Poor martyr,--most devoutly, "Yes!"
Thou weep'st because thy spouse has flown
To arms preferred before thine own;--
A faithless wife,--I grant the curse,--
And yet, my friend, it might be worse!
Just hear another's tale of sorrow,
And, in comparing, comfort borrow!

What! dost thou think thyself undone,
Because thy rights are shared with one!