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L. E. L. has attained an elevation in the literary world to which genius alone can entitle an individual; and yet are her works generally appreciated according to their merits? In the high places of intellect, indeed, her name is dear as a household word, and the radiance of fame encircles her brow. What hand among the gifted tribe would refuse to add a flower to her wreath of renown? What voice among all the children of song would be silent in her praise? But, speak of L. E. L. and her poetry in general society, and a want of appreciation is perceptible. Her name, indeed, has become so identified with the literature of the day, that not to know anything of it is scarcely possible. At the same time who, from general opinion, would give her credit for the characteristics of a philosophical mind, and for its intellectual results; for the discursive observation, the profound reflection, the accurate analysis, the correct judgment of the high-toned intellect, united with the feeling and fancy generally considered the chief requisites for an imaginative writer? Yet by these combined agencies, and nothing less, have L. E. L.'s mental riches been accumulated from the broad paths of observation, from the hidden mines of thought, from the ocean-depths of the heart; and then wrought by her genius into the creations of intellectual beauty and worth which live in the "thoughts that breathe, and words that burn," throughout her pages of the soul's own poetry.
