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alty-chivalrous loyalty—such as must have existed amongst the Paladins and preux chevaliers of oldseems the truest and deepest in his character; he
De sa compagne chérie,
Qui fait seul notre espérance,
gives me the idea of being born an age too late for its free scope. This day has been—I was going to say, one of the happiest, but I am too isolated a being to use that word—at least, one of the pleasantest and most cheerfully exciting of my life. I shall think again and again of that walk under the old solemn trees that hang over the mountain-stream of Yarrow, with Sir Walter Scott beside me; his voice frequently breaking out, as if half unconsciously, into some verse of the antique ballads, which he repeats with a deep and homely pathos. One stanza, in particular, will linger in my memory like music.
• His mother through the window look’d,
Le bonheur qu'avait Henri
“ Au pied de ce monument,
Où le bon Henri respire,
Béarnais, séchez vos larmes —
De sa prison à Paris."
They sought him east, they sought him west,
They only heard the roar of Yarrow!' “ Before we retired for the night, he took me into the hall, and showed me the spot where the imagined form of Byron had stood before him. This hall, with the rich gloom shed by its deeply-coloured windows, and with its antique suits of armour, and inscriptions, all breathing of the olden time,' is truly a fitting scene for the appearance of so stately a shadow.
“ The next morning I left Abbotsford; and who can leave a spot so brightened and animated by the life, the happy life of genius, without regret ? I shall not forget the kindness of Sir Walter's farewell—so frank, and simple, and heartfelt, as he said to me—“There are some whom we meet, and should like ever after to claim as kith and kin; and you are one of those.' It is delightful to take away with me so unmingled an impression of what I may now call almost affectionate admiration.”
Amongst the numerous friends Mrs. Hemans was fortunate enough to possess in Scotland, there was one to whom she was linked by so peculiar a bond of union, and whose unwearied kindness is so precious an inheritance to her children, that it is hoped the owner of a name so dear to them (though it be a part of her nature to shrink from publicity), will forgive its being introduced into these pages. ..
This invaluable friend was Lady Wedderburn,' the
The Lady of Sir David Wedderburn, Bart., and sister of the late Viscountess Hampden. The monument on which the lines are inscribed, is at Glynde, in Sussex, near Lord Hampden's seat.
mother of those “two brothers, a child and a youth,” for whose monument Mrs. Hemans had written an inscription, which, with its simple pathos, has doubtless sunk deep into the heart of many a mourner, as well as of many a yet rejoicing parent, there called upon to remember that for them, too,
-Speaks the grave, Where God hath sealed the fount of hope He gave.” Into the gentle heart, which has found relief for its own sorrows in soothing the griefs and promoting the enjoyments of others, the author of this sacred tribute was taken with a warmth and loving-kindness which extended its genial influence to all belonging to her; and during their stay in Edinburgh, whither they proceeded from Abbotsford, Mrs. Hemans and her children were cherished with a true home welcome at the house of Sir David Wedderburn. Her impressions of that queen-like city, and the generous cordiality of her reception amongst some of the most distinguished of its inhabitants, will best appear in her own words.
“I am quite delighted with Edinburgh - it is a gallant city to behold, full of picture at every turn of the streets; and I have been greeted with such attention here, that truly I might begin to fancy myself a queen in good earnest, if I remained much longer. I never can forget the cordial kindness I have received, and all the impressions I shall carry hence will be bright and pleasant. I am very glad to have seen it at this time of the year, when it was represented to me as a perfect desert. A person must be of most gregarious habits indeed, who cannot find more than enough of society even in these desolate months. I have made some very interesting acquaintance-Mrs. Grant of Laggan, Captain Basil Hall, and, above all, Mr. Jeffrey, at whose house in the country I dined yesterday. His conversation is such mental champagne as I never tasted before-rich, full of imagery, playful, energetic; certainly one of the most delightful days I have passed in Scotland, has been the one at Craig Crook, as his seat is called. To-day we are going to dine with Mrs. Grant. The boys are well, and are delighted to see their heroine ‘mamma' so kindly welcomed by every one." ;
The next extract is from a letter to her son Claude, who was staying, during her absence, at Wavertree Lodge. “I have just returned from visiting Edinburgh Castle (the citadel, you know, of this noble town), and looking at the Scottish regalia, which are kept in one of the rooms. There is something impressive in the sight of a crown, sword, and sceptre, which have been the object of so many gallant struggles; and I could have looked at them long with increasing interest. They are shown by the light of lamps, though at noonday, in a small room, hung with dark crimson. Last Sunday I attended the preaching of Mr. Alison : 'he has a countenance of most venerable beauty, a deep mellow voice, and an earnest gentleness of manner, which goes at once to the heart, and wins a feeling of almost filial affection. After the service was ended, he came forward very kindly to be introduced to me, and took me, with Charles and Henry, into the vestryroom, where I had a good deal of conversation with
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