have changed my residence since I last wrote to you, and my address is now at Wavertree, near Liverpool, where I shall, as the Welsh country-people say, 'take it very kind' if you write to me; and I really cannot help venturing to hope that you will. I have yet only read of Rienzi a few noble passages given by the newspapers and magazines, but in a few days I hope to be acquainted with the whole. Every woman ought to be proud of your triumph-in this age, too, when dramatic triumph seems of all others the most difficult. How are May, and Mossy, and Lucy, and Jack Hatch?-no, Jack Hatch actually died, to the astonishment of myself and my boys, who thought, I believe, he had been painted for eternity'—and Mrs. Allen, and the rest of the dear villagers? I trust they are well. Your mother, I believe, is always an invalid, but I hope she is able fully to enjoy the success of her daughter, as only a mother can enjoy it. How hollow sounds the voice of Fame to an orphan !1 Farewell, my dear Miss Mitford-long may you have the delight of gladdening a father and mother!"

"MY DEAR MRS. HOWITT,

"Wavertree, Dec. 11th, 1828.

"You will not, I trust, have thought me very ungrateful for your delightful letter, though it has been left so long unanswered. I am sure I shall give

1In one of Mrs. Hemans's MS. books is an extract from Richter, of which she must have felt the full force. "O thou who hast still a father and a mother, thank God for it in the day when thy soul is full of joyful tears, and needs a bosom whereon to shed them!"

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your heart greater pleasure by writing now, than I could have done by an immediate reply; for I had suffered so deeply, so much more than I had imagined possible, from leaving Wales, and many kind and 'old familiar faces' there, as well as from the breaking up of my family on the occasion of my sister's marriage, that my spirits were, long after my arrival here, overshadowed by constant depression. My health, also, had been much affected by mental struggles, and I thought within myself, I will not write what I know will only sadden so kind a heart; I will wait till the sunshine breaks in.' And now, I can tell you that it begins to dawn; for my health and spirits are decidedly improving, and I am reconciling myself to many things in my changed situation, which, at first, pressed upon my heart with all the weight of a Switzer's home sickness. Among these, is the want of hills. Oh! this waveless horizon !-how it wearies the eye accustomed to the sweeping outline of mountain scenery! I would wish that there were, at least, woodlands, like those so delightfully pictured in your husband's Chapter on Woods, to supply their place; but it is a dull, uninventive nature all around here, though there must be somewhere little fairy nooks, which I hope, by degrees, to discover. I must recur to the before-mentioned Chapter, it delighted me so particularly by the freshness of its spirit, deep feeling, and minute observation of nature. The fading of the leaf, which ought rather to be called the kindling of the leaf,'-how truly and how poetically was that said! That I might become better acquainted with his writings, I have lately borrowed some volumes of Time's Telescope, in

which I believed I could not fail to discover the same characteristics; and I anticipate much enjoyment from The Book of the Seasons, which, I am sure, will be a rich treasury of natural imagery and pure feeling.'

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"I hear, with great pleasure, my dear friend, that the place of your lost one is to be supplied, the hollow of his absence' filled up. All the kindly wishes of a woman's and a mother's heart attend you on the occasion!

"I trust your dear little girl is well. Has she quite forgotten Felicia Hemans?' I cannot tell you with how much pleasure I read your praises in the Noctes Ambrosiana. They were bestowed, too, in language so delicate and appropriate, that I think you must have felt gratified, especially as you have one to gratify by your success."

A remarkable instance of Mrs. Hemans's powers of memory, is recorded about this time, in the fact of her having repeated, and even written down, with extraordinary accuracy, the beautiful stanzas address

1In this anticipation she was not disappointed; for she wrote of it two years after as "a little book which has quite charmed me. Do you know," she continued, "I think that the rumours of political strife and convulsion now ringing round us on all sides, make the spirit long more intensely for the freshness, and purity, and stillness of nature, and take deeper delight in everything that recalls these lovely images. I am sure I shall forget all sadness, and feel as happy as a child or a fawn, when I can be free again amongst hills and woods. I long for them 'as the hart for the water brooks.""

ed by Lord Byron to his sister, after hearing them only twice read aloud in manuscript.

A few extracts, bearing more particularly on literary subjects, will give some idea of her predominant tastes at this period.

"I send Herder's beautiful ballads of The Cid, and I wish you may take as much pleasure as I have always done in their proud clarion music. I often think what a dull, faded thing life-such life as we lead in this later age-would appear to one of those fiery knights of old. Only imagine my Cid, spurring the good steed Bavieca through the streets of Liverpool, or coming to pass an evening with me at Wavertree!"

"I owe you many thanks for so kindly introducing me to all those noble thoughts of Richter's. I think the vision in the church magnificent both in purpose and conception: it is scarcely possible to stop for the contemplation of occasional extravagances, when borne along so rapidly and triumphantly, as by 'a mighty rushing wind,' some of the detached thoughts are so exquisite."

"Now, let me introduce you to a dear friend of mine, Tieck's Sternbald, in whose Wanderungen, which I now send-if you know them not alreadyI cannot but hope that you will take almost as much delight as I have done amidst my own free hills and streams, where his favourite book has again and again been my companion."

"We have been talking much of French poetry lately. Do you know the Dernier Chant de Corinne? I sent it, marked in the third volume of the book, and you shall have the others if you wish. If the soul, without the form, be enough to constitute poetry, then it surely is poetry of the very highest order.

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"That book (Corinne), in particular towards its close, has a power over me which is quite indescribable. Some passages seem to give me back my own thoughts and feelings, my whole inner being, with a mirror more true than ever friend could hold up."

"How very beautiful are those letters of Lord Collingwood to his family!- there is something in all those thoughts of hearth and home, and of the garden trees and of the old summer-seat,' which, breathing as they do from amidst the far and lonely seas, affect us like an exile's song of his fatherland. The letters to his wife brought strongly to my mind the poor Queen of Prussia's joyous exclamations in the midst of her last sufferings-Oh! how blessed is she who receives such a letter as this!'"

"I send my copy of Iphigenia, because I shall like to know whether you are as much struck with all that I have marked in it as I have been. Do you remember all we were saying on the obscurity of female suffering in such stormy days of the lance and spear, as the good Fray Agapida describes so vividly? Has not Goethe beautifully developed the idea in the lines which I inclose? They occur in Iphigenia's supplication to Thoas for her brother."