has published many fugitive pieces of poetry, which have been widely copied.
Her prose writings have been chiefly in the form of novelettes for the weekly papers and the monthly magazines. After a wide circulation in this form, they have been generally reprinted as books, and enjoyed the eclat of numerous editions. They are “Aunt Patty’s Scrap Bag,” 1846; “The Mob Cap,” 1848; “Linda, or the Young Pilot of the Belle Creole,” 1850; and “Rena, or the Snowbird,” 1851.
Every one practically conversant with the art of composition, knows that those works which, to the uninitiated, seem to have been written currente calamo—dashed off at full speed—are ordinarily the fruit of slow and patient labour. Mrs. Hentz appears to be an exception to this rule. The spontaneousness and freedom so apparent in her style are a true exponent of her habit of composition. Her happy facility in this respect reminds us of that most remarkable poetical improvisatrice, Mrs. Osgood. Mrs. Hentz, if we may credit authentic information, writes in the midst of her domestic circle, and subject to constant interruptions, yet with the greatest rapidity, and with a degree of accuracy that seldom requires, as it never receives revision.
One long an inmate of the household, writes to me on this subject, as follows: “What has often struck me with wonder in regard to Mrs. Hentz, is the remarkable ease with which she writes. When a leisure moment presents itself, she takes up her pen, as others do their knitting, and it dances swiftly over the paper, as if in vain trying to keep up with the current of her thoughts. ‘Aunt Patty’s Scrap Bag’ was written while I was living in the family, and as at evening I sat at her table, I read it sheet by sheet, ere the ink was dry from her pen, and on every page I saw, in the record of the affectionate family of the Worths, and particularly in the tender relations between Mrs. Worth and her daughters, a faithful transcript of the author’s own heart.
“Pardon me if I introduce a few lines which she dashed off hastily for me, while I stood waiting for the coach, the day I left her at Tuskegee. Though simple, they are in many respects a comment upon her heart, and the chief object of her pen. I give them from memory.
“May this ring, when it circles thy finger, remind
Thy heart of the friends thou art leaving behind—
I have breathed on its gold a magical spell—
That, in long after years, of this moment shall tell.
“Should snares and temptations around thee entwine,
May the gem on thy finger with warning rays shine—
And whisper of one whose spirit would mourn
If thou from the pathway of virtue should turn.
