elle y établie des mondes, et avec son impuissant orgueil elle s'y apprete à y placer des objets, c'est la cependant qu'elle s'arrete, qu'elle objets la y placera 'telle? Ceux qu'elle a fabriqué sur les models des hommes? pour elle seul des étres parfaites; pour ses mondes, elle se decourage de la pauvreté de son imagination, et decouragement s'oblige à rentrer dans son cercle. J'en étais là cette nuit, et je parcourais mes deux petits chambres en attendant que ma pensée aura achevé son voyage chimerique. Je me suis mechaniquement approché de ma fenêtre. Il faisait une de ces nuits calme ou on dirait que les éléments sont en conseil, quelques étoiles par ci et par là, suivant son ordre était brillante, de gros nuages était suspendues comme des condamnés en attendant que quelque vent veut bien lui donner un direction, une fois que mes yeux etaient tournées au ciel l'orgeuil de l'âme cette Athée n'ose par le fixer, car il n'a pas assez de force pour nier ce qu'il voit, et quand il a vu, il ne pu pas dire que cette ordre est hasard, cette silence impotent, cette immensité de la nature, l'impuissance de l'homme, contre ses volontés. “C'est un spectacle qui est bien grand, sublime. Au milieu de cet extase ou j'avais oublié moi-même pour analyser ce que ne je comprennais pas, un petit araignée avait etabli sur un coin de ce même fenêtre son atelier, et sans s'occuper nullement de l'immensité comme si le globe fût fait pour lui, c'était emparé d'une simple figure geometrique trianguliere et il y avait fait son royaume, déjà un quantité des victimes, petits moucherons, étaient en son pouvoir, ils avaient bon se debattre peut être ils ont en une manière de s'entendre dans leur melée et demander grace pour la vie, mais l'impitoyable araignée impassible continuait ses executions avec le plus grand calme et perseverance sans s'interesser au sort de ses petits insectes qui probablement se debatent pour l'instant de tout être qui vit de la conservation, n'est il pas bizarre, et ne prouve t'il pas la faiblesse de l'homme qui au milieu des idées elevées dans une espèce d'extase un araignée ait eu le talent de me distraire et faire tourner ma pensée et remuer un espèce de sentiment tendre en faveur de ses victimes? Je regardais cette manœuvre avec amertume. Je contemplais cet insect qui travaillait admirablement, par un mouvement involontaire j'ai dechiré sa toile mais les petits moucherons il y sont resté, et l'araignée s'est sauvé pour aller probablement plus loin à établir une autre echaudoire voila l'ordre de chasser, et que l'homme avec sa volonté, sa raison, et son intelligence ne pouvait jamais empêcher les araignées d'exercer leur atroche pouvoir sur les petits moucherons. J'avoue qu'un sentiment de jalousie c'est elevé dans mon âme, et savez vous ce que j'ai encore le presomption de les petites ames que n'étant pas content de leur situation s'en prennent à Dieu, et s'accable contre sa puissance en lui reprochant qu'il ne s'occupe pas assez d'elle et se plaignent, de manquer de bonheur. Peut être me disiez vous que cela ce n'est pas le faute des petites ames mais bien une des absurdités du systeme religieuse qui ont fait d'un Dieu un être petit et à qui on a attribué tout le petit passion de l'homme. Il n'y a pas de doute que c'est comme cela qu'on a demoralisé le croyance, c'est comme cela qu'on a autorisé le charlatan isme et revetue de pouvoir certains hommes qui ont joui le role de partager les ames entre Dieu et le Diable, et ils ont fait cela pour leur propres interets le fondement de ce qu'ils appellent religion que plus tard par le force de l'habitude on a soumis à la stupide masse. Et Dieu se trouve l'instrument de sa propre divinité. Mais qu'est ce que cela fait à Dieu ? C'est l'homme, toujours l'homme qui ne veut pas adorer l'immensité parce qu'il serait obligé de s'humilier, c'est un pouvoir et un grandeur d'ame qu'il n'a pas. Qu'en dites vous, milady, en resumé, pour une ame de bonne fois le role le plus facile, et ou il y aura plus de chance de bonheur c'est celui de prendre la vie comme vegetation. Si vous connaissez un moyen pour m'y conduire, indiquez le moi. Mon imagination me tire, mes connoissances sont trop foibles pour moi seule, pas assez pour satisfaire mon amour propre. J'ai un esprit qui analyse, qui me poursuit, et m'oblige à tant etudier. Je n'estime pas assez les hommes pour tenir à leur approbation, vous savez que le prospect de mon avenir est peu brillant. Qu'en dites vous? "Voilà, un volume aurez vous le courage de le lire? Je suis fatigué, brisé et dans un crise de tristesse qui m'oblige de me tenir en compagne. Mais j'aurai la plaisir de vous voir demain au soir. Mes amitiés à mes jeunes amies qui auront certainements de nuits plus calmes et des reves plus doux. Mes compliments au comte, à vous mon dévouément.* MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. AMERICA." "The American Hemans," when first known to the public as Miss Huntley, authoress of " Moral Pieces, in Prose and Verse," was at the head of a female school in her native place in Connecticut. She married a gentleman of large fortune; and at her husband's estate, on the banks of the Connecticut, were written many of her poems, of a moral character, most of a religious tone, and all indicative of warm feelings and generous sentiments, and of strong sympathies with every just and righteous cause. This most gifted female writer that America has produced was on very intimate terms of acquaintance with Lady Blessington. The poetry of Mrs. Sigourney bears much resemblance to that of Mrs. Hemans, whose works were edited and published in America by her, with an excellent memoir of Mrs. Hemans, feelingly and beautifully written. Lady Blessington regarded Mrs. Sigourney as a person of considerable talent and great The profound ignorance, presumptuous folly, and daring impiety displayed in this letter, need no comment.-R. R. M. worth. She is said, like Mrs. Hemans, to have been acquainted with domestic sorrows, and, like her, even in the midst of many cares and trials, possessed traces of considerable beauty. The latest production of Mrs. Sigourney was a volume entitled "The Faded Hope," a record of the life and virtues of a beloved son, who died aged nineteen. Mrs. Sigourney, as her letters will show, was well aware of Lady Blessington's admiration for the writings of Mrs. Hemans. That lady was never spoken of by her except in terms of the highest praise, and her admiration for the poetry of Mrs. Hemans was no less enthusiastic than just and discriminating. In one of her works she says, "The exquisite poems of Mrs. Hemans affect one like sacred music; they never fail to excite solemn feelings of an elevated and spiritual character, and sentiments of a pensive cast, of calm resignation and serenity." The mind of this gifted woman, with all its treasures of innate melody, she compares to an Æolian harp, that every sighing wind awakens to music, most sweet but melancholy, the full charm of which can only be appreciated by those who have sorrowed, and who look beyond the earth for the solace of their cares.* It is worthy of observation, too, that the genius of Mrs. Hemans was fully appreciated by Lady Blessington at a period when it was underrated by many of her contemporaries. She was wont to speak of Mrs. Hemans and Miss Landon as two of the most gifted women of our time. She thought the intimate relationship of their genius, the kindred nature of their tastes and pursuits, of their sorrows and the similarity of their destinies, of their claims on the sympathies of all people of literary tastes, naturally associated their names and memories. In Anne's Church, Dawson Street, Dublin, I recently found a tablet in the wall in commemoration of the genius and the virtues of Mrs. Hemans. The well-remembered traits of beauty and of talent, and of care and sorrow that clouded their brightness-the sweet traits that belonged to her whose name is on this sepulchral tablet, came full before me while I read the inscription on it; and they The Idler in France, vol. ii., p. 62. reminded me of those beautiful lines of hers on the loved looks of a departed friend: "They haunt me still, those calm, pure, holy eyes; Their piercing sweetness wanders through my dreams; Comes o'er my soul in soft and sudden gleams. Is there, and yet how dark a death was thine." Few things in life are more mournful to reflect than the destiny which links the " spirit life" of such a being as Felicia Hemans with cares and sorrows that darken life, and even bring additional gloom to death itself. "How is the laurel shaken" over such a tomb! INSCRIPTION ON THE MURAL TABLET IN ANNE'S CHURCH, DUBLIN. In the vault beneath are deposited the mortal remains of FELICIA HEMANS, who died May 16th, 1833, Calm in the bosom of thy God, Fair spirit, rest thee now; E'en while with us thy footsteps trod, His seal was on thy brow. Dust to its narrow house beneath, Soul to its place on high! They that have seen thy look in death, No more may fear to die. LETTERS FROM MRS. SIGOURNEY TO LADY BLESSINGTON. "Hartford, Connecticut, June 10th, 1841. 'MY DEAR MADAM,-Had it been possible, before my departure from London, I should have done myself the honor again to have paid my respects at Gore House, where my call with our friend, Mrs. Hall, is remembered with much pleasure. Your kindness of manner was most charming to a stranger, and the warmth with which you spoke of my dear Mrs. Hemans quite opened my heart. I may truly say that I love those who love her. I was disappointed at not being able to see, while in Great Britain, Mrs. Hughes, her sister and accomplished biographer. Your ladyship's writings, and some of the splendid works which you have occasionally edited, are known in this country; still, I should like to have them more so, for the young, green West is inclined to appreciate genius and taste. Might I ask that if you condescend to reply to this, you will send me, at the same time, a few lines of your poetry? I was delighted with England, the Great Fatherland,' and thankful for the privilege of visiting it. "Remember me with much regard to your nieces, the Misses Power. I should be pleased to hear of the welfare of their talented little sisters, some of whose developments were related to me. 66 With gratitude for your attention, believe me, most respectfully, your friend, L. H. SIGOURNEY." "Hartford, Connecticut, August 12th, 1843. "Last December, being in the city of Boston, where my Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands' were in the process of publication, I put on board the steam-ship, then on the verge of sailing, one of the first copies that I obtained from the press, directed to yourself, to the care of John Murray, of Albemarle Street. Was that also unfortunate in its destination? I am inclined to think that ill fortune in such matters pursues me, as I received only by the last steamer an acknowledgment from a friend in England of a similar volume having but just reached her, which was sent eight months since, in the same package as your own. . . . Are you aware how much your novel of 'Meredith' is admired in these United States? I see it ranked in some of our leading periodicals as the 'best work of the noble and talented authoress.' This they mean as high praise, since your other productions have been widely and warmly commended. We are, as you doubtless know, emphatically a reading people. "Our magazines, and many of the works that they announce, go into the humble dwelling of the manufacturer, into the brown hand of the farmer, into the log hut of the emigrant, who sees around him the dark forms of the remnant of our aboriginal tribes, &c., hears the murmurs of the turbid Missouri, perhaps the breaking billows of the Pacific. "I have recently become interested, for the present year, in one of those periodicals published for ladies in New York, which announces two thousand subscribers, and assumes to have ten times that number of readers. "I hope your beautiful nieces are well. I wish to be remembered to them. Have you recently heard from the brilliant one in the far Orient? "I write this with one of the pens from the tasteful little writing-box you were so good as to send me, and repeat my thanks for that gift, so acceptable in itself, and so valued as from your hand. You had not been quite well when you last wrote. I hope you have long ere this quite recovered, and that you will soon write me so. L. H. SIGOURNEY." "Hartford, Connecticut, May 28th, 1842. "Your letter was received with much pleasure, though it grieved me to hear of the severe indisposition with which you had been suffering. I trust |