amidst its green recesses, was invested with some in. dividual charm by that rich imagination, so skilled in 66 Clothing the palpable and the familiar, With golden exhalations of the dawn.”1 Here, on what the boys would call "mamma's sofa" a little grassy mound under her favourite beech-tree-she first read The Talisman, and has described the scene with a loving minuteness in her Hour of Romance. "There were thick leaves above me and around, And low sweet sighs, like those of childhood's sleep, Amidst their dimness, and a fitful sound As of soft showers on water. Dark and deep Lay the oak shadows o'er the turf-so still, They seem'd but pictured glooms; a hidden rill Made music-such as haunts us in a dreamUnder the fern-tufts; and a tender gleam Of soft green light—as by the glow-worm shed - Many years after, in the sonnet "To a Distant Scene," she addresses, with a fond yearning, this wellremembered haunt: "Still are the cowslips from thy bosom springing, How many precious memories has she hung round the thought of the cowslip, that flower, with its "gold coat" and "fairy favours," which is, of all others, so associated with the "voice of happy childhood," and was, to her, ever redolent of the hours when her "Heart so leapt to that sweet laughter's tone!" Another favourite resort was the picturesque old bridge over the Clwyd; and when her health (which was subject to continual variation, but was at this time more robust than usual) admitted of more aspiring achievements, she delighted in roaming to the hills; and the announcement of a walk to Cwm,' a remote little hamlet, nestled in a mountain hollow, amidst very lovely sylvan scenery, about two miles from Rhyllon, would be joyously echoed by her elated companions, to whom the recollection of these happy rambles must always be unspeakably dear. Very often, at the outset of these expeditions, the party would be reinforced by the addition of a certain little Kitty Jones, a child from a neighbouring cottage, who had taken an especial fancy to Mrs. Hemans, and was continually watching her movements. This little creature never saw her without at once attaching itself to her side, and confidingly placing its tiny hand in hers. So great was her love for children, and her repugnance to hurt the feelings of any living creature, that she never would shake off this singular appendage, but let little Kitty rejoice in her "pride of place," till the walk became too long for her capacity, and she would quietly fall behind of her own accord. Those who only know the neighbourhood of St. Asaph, from travelling along its high-ways, can be little aware how much delightful scenery is attainable, within walks of two or three miles distance from Mrs. Hemans's residence. The placid beauty of the Clwyd, and the wilder graces of its sister stream, the Elwy, 1 Pronounced Coom. particularly in the vicinity of "Our Lady's Well," and the interesting rocks and caves at Cefn, are little known to general tourists; though, by the lovers of her poetry, it will be remembered how sweetly she has apostrophised the .99 1 "Fount of the chapel, with ages grey;" and how tenderly, amidst far different scenes, her thoughts reverted to the "Cambrian river, with slow music gliding By pastoral hills, old woods, and ruined towers." " Every day was now bringing some fresh proof of Mrs. Hemans's widely extending fame, and more especially of the unprecedented favour with which her writings were regarded in America. Many testimonials had reached her from various quarters, of the high estimation in which she was held on the other side of the Atlantic; and she had already been engaged in a pleasant interchange of correspondence with Dr. Bancroft, the talented author of The History of the United States, who was amongst the first to distinguish her works amongst his countrymen, by public criticism, or rather eulogy. But, in the autumn of this year (1825,) a still more direct communication was opened for her with a country to which she was thenceforward to be bound by so many ties of grateful and kindly feeling. This delightful intercourse owed its beginning to the arrival — unexpected, as 1 Our Lady's Well. Sonnet "To the River Clwyd in North Wales." though it had fallen from the clouds-of a packet from Boston, containing a letter of self-introduction from Professor Norton, of Cambridge University, New England, informing her that a complete edition of her works was wished for at Boston, and most liberally offering to superintend its publication, and secure the profits for her benefit. This packet, which also included some interesting specimens of American literature, after crossing the Atlantic in safety, had a narrow escape of being consigned to the "treasures of the deep," by a disaster which occurred to the party who had the charge of it, in traversing the Ulverstone Sands. But it would seem as if a missive so fraught with genuine kindness—such as could proceed only from the best and highest feelings of our nature -bore within itself a spell to resist all "moving accidents by flood and field." By the courtesy of a stranger, it was singled out from a motley pile of other flotsome and jetsome found drying at the kitchen fire of a little inn on the coast of Lancashire, and carefully forwarded to the destination where it was to impart so much gratification, and lead to such valuable results. Mrs. Hemans took infinite pleasure in recounting the singular adventures of this memorable packet; and the "sea change" which all its contents had suffered, more particularly a handsomely bound volume, The Life of Mr. Charles Eliot, written by the Professor himself-made them only the more precious in her eyes. From this time forward, the arrival of such welcome tributes became of continual occurrence, and she was supplied with all that was most interesting in transatlantic literature, either through the munificence of Mr. Norton, or the kindness of the respectivc authors, with some of whom she was thus brought into direct communication. In this manner she made acquaintance with the noble writings of Dr. Channing, and entered into a correspondence with that distinguished author, for whose lofty eloquence and fervent inculcations of truth and morality, she entertained the highest respect, though the religious convictions in which she differed from him so widely, were absolutely a part of her being, and, if possible, gained strength with every year of her life. In her letters of this period, there is perpetual allusion to the enjoyment spread throughout the household by every fresh arrival from Boston. The unfolding of the various treasures was a treat to old and young; and the peculiar odour of the pine wood which the books used to imbibe from the cases on their voyage, was greeted as "the American smell," almost as joyfully as the aromatic breezes of the New World were first inhaled by Columbus and his companions. On one occasion, Mrs. Hemans was somewhat ludicrously disenchanted,, through the medium of a North American Review, on the subject of a self-constituted hero, whose history (which suggested her little poem, The Child of the Forests) she had read with unquestioning faith and lively interest. This was the redoubtable John Dunn Hunter, whose marvellous adventures amongst the Indians-by whom he represented himself to have been carried away in childhood—were worked up into a plausible narrative, admirably calculated to excite the sympathies of its readers. But how far it was really deserving of them, |