and her husband never met again. In a position so painful, as must ever be that of a woman for whom the most sacred of ties is thus virtually broken, all outward consolations can be but of secondary value; yet much of what these could afford was granted to Mrs. Hemans in the extending influence of her talents, the growing popularity of her writings, and the warm interest and attachment of many private friends. Amongst the most devoted of these from an early period of their acquaintance, were the family of the late Bishop of St. Asaph, the good and lamented Dr. Luxmore. In this kind-hearted prelate, Mrs. Hemans possessed a never-failing friend and counsellor, whose advice, in the absence of nearer ties, she at all times sought with affectionate reliance, and whose approbation she valued with appreciating respect. His paternal kindness was not confined to herself, but extended with equal indulgence to her children, who were so accustomed to the interest he would take in their studies and sports, that they seemed to consider themselves as having an inherent right to his notice and favour; and would talk of "their own Bishop" in an amusing tone of appropriation. Many years afterwards, in a letter from Chiefswood, their mother thus alludes to the recollection of former days: "I have been much at Abbotsford, where my boys run in and out as if they were children of the soil, or as if it were 'The Palace.””

The poem of The Sceptic, published in 1820, was one in which her revered friend took a peculiar interest. It had been her original wish to dedicate it to him, but he declined the tribute, thinking it

might be more advantageous to her to pay this compliment to Mr. Gifford, with whom she was at that time in frequent correspondence, and who entered very warmly into her literary undertakings, discussing them with the kindness of an old friend, and desiring her to command frankly whatever assistance his advice or experience could afford. Mrs. Hemans, in the first instance, consented to adopt the suggestion regarding the altered dedication; but was afterwards deterred from putting it into execution, by a fear that it might be construed into a manœuvre to propitiate the good graces of the Quarterly Review; and from the slightest approach to any such mode of propitiation, her sensitive nature recoiled with almost fastidious deli cacy. Shortly before the publication of The Sceptic, her prize poem, The Meeting of Wallace and Bruce on the Banks of the Carron, had appeared in Black wood's Magazine' for September, 1819. A patriotic individual having signified his intention of giving £1000 towards the erection of a monument to Sir William Wallace, and a prize of £50 for the best poem on the subject above alluded to, Mrs. Hemans was recommended by a zealous friend in Edinburgh, to enter the lists as a competitor, which she accordingly did, though without being in the slightest degree sanguine of success; so that the news of the prize having been decreed to her was no less unexpected than gratifying. The number of candidates for this distinction was so overwhelming, as to cause not a

1 The stanzas on the "Death of the Princess Charlotte," had been published in the same periodical in April 1818.

little embarrassment to the judges appointed to decide on their merits. A letter, written at the time, describes them as being reduced to absolute despair by the contemplation of the task which awaited them;having to read over a mass of poetry that would require at least a month to wade through. Some of the contributions were from the strangest aspirants imaginable; and one of them is mentioned as being as long as Paradise Lost. At length, however, the Herculean labour was accomplished; and the honour awarded to Mrs. Hemans on this occasion, seemed an earnest of the warm kindness and encouragement she was ever afterwards to receive at the hands of the Scottish public. One of the earliest notices of The Sceptic appeared in the Edinburgh Monthly Magazine; and there is something in its tone so far more valuable than ordinary praise, and at the same time so prophetic of the happy influence her writings were one day to exercise, that the introduction of the concluding paragraph may not be unwelcome to the readers of this little memorial. After quoting from the poem, the reviewer thus proceeds: "These extracts must, we think, convey to every reader a favourable impression of the talents of their author, and of the admirable purposes to which her high gifts are directed. It is the great defect, as we imagine, of some of the most popular writers of the day, that they are not sufficiently attentive to the moral dignity of their performances; it is the deep, and will be the lasting reproach of others, that in this point of view they have wantonly sought and realised the most profound literary abasement. With the promise of talents

not inferior to any, and far superior to most of them, the author before us is not only free from every stain, but breathes all moral beauty and loveliness; and it will be a memorable coincidence if the era of a woman's sway in literature shall become co-eval with the return of its moral purity and elevation." From suffrages such as these, Mrs. Hemans derived not merely present gratification, but encouragement and cheer for her onward course. It was still dearer to her to receive the assurances, with which it often fell to her lot to be blessed, of having, in the exercise of the talents intrusted to her, administered balm to the feelings of the sorrowful, or taught the desponding where to look for comfort. In a letter written at this time to a valued friend, recently visited by one of the heaviest of human calamities-the loss of an exemplary mother-she thus describes her own appreciation of such heart-tributes. "It is inexpressibly gratifying to me to know, that you should find anything I have written at all adapted to your present feelings, and that The Sceptic should have been one of the last

"It is pleasing to record the following tribute from Mrs. Hannah More, in a letter to a friend who had sent her a copy of The Sceptic. I cannot refuse myself the gratification of saying, that I entertain a very high opinion of Mrs. Hemans's superior genius and refined taste. I rank her, as a poet, very high, and I have seen no work on the subject of her Modern Greece, which evinces more just views, or more delicate perceptions of the fine and the beautiful. I am glad she has employed her powerful pen, in this new instance, on a subject so worthy of it; and anticipating the future by the past, I promise myself no small pleasure in the perusal, and trust it will not only confer pleasure, but benefit.''

books upon which the eyes, now opened upon brighter scenes, were cast. Perhaps, when your mind is sufficiently composed, you will inform me which were the passages distinguished by the approbation of that pure and pious mind: they will be far more highly valued by me than anything I have ever written."

The sentiments expressed in the same letter on the subject of Affliction, its design and influence, are so completely a part of herself, that it would seem an omission to withhold them. They are embodied in the following words:-"Your ideas respecting the nature and degree of sorrow for the departed, permitted us by that religion which seems to speak with the immediate voice of Heaven to affliction, coincide perfectly with my own. I have been hitherto spared a trial of this nature, but I have often passed hours in picturing to myself what would be the state of my mind under such a visitation. I am convinced, that though grief becomes criminal when it withdraws us from the active duties of life, yet that the wounds made by "the arrows of the Almighty" are not meant to be forgotten. If He who chastens those whom He loves, means, as we cannot doubt, by such inflictions to recall the Spirit to Himself, and prepare the mortal for immortality, the endeavour to obliterate such recollections is surely not less in opposition to His intentions, than the indulgence of that rebellious grief, which repines as if its own sufferings were an exception to the general mercies of Heaven. Life is but too dear to us, even with all its precarious joys and heavy calamities; and constituted even as it is, we can hardly keep our minds fixed upon a brighter state