"Will you not dislike more than ever when I tell you that our friend Mr. Roscoe is actually to be deprived of a pension which he received from the Royal Society of Literature? I learned this from the Mr. whom I told you I expected to see, but he begged me not to make it generally known at present. Mathias also, one of our most distinguished Italian scholars, now a very old man in narrow circumstances, is to undergo a similar privation. Is it not a miserable piece of economy in an English king to retrench a thousand a-year (for all these literary pensions amounted to no more) from men of letters in advanced age? I feel quite grieved about Mr. Roscoe, for besides that I am afraid he can ill spare it, the wound to his feelings seemed to be so great. I can scarcely think of it without tears, when I recollect his touching expression of feebleness united with so much that is venerable. I mean to sail, if I possibly can, to-morrow, and shall write to you as soon as I am a little settled in Dublin, where I hope we shall meet in the autumn. I have had a very good account of my two boys; I am quite amused to hear from their master, that little has already excited a general musical taste in the school, and has actually persuaded all the boys to subscribe for a music-master." CHAPTER XIV. Mrs. Hemans' departure from England-Letters from Kilkenny-Catholic and Protestant animosity-Pictures at Lord Ormonde's-Visit to Woodstock-Parallel between the Poems of Mrs. Hemans and Mrs. Tighe-Raphael's great Madonna-Kilfane-Water-birds-Deserted churchyard-Visit to a Convent-Passage in Symmons' Translation of the Agamemnon-Kilkenny-Irish politics-"The Deathsong of Alcestis"-Dublin Musical Festival-Paganini-" Napoleon's Midnight Review"-Further Anecdotes of Paganini-Letters from the County Wicklow-Glendalough-The Devil's Glen-Wood scenery— Letters from Dublin-Miniature by Robinson-Society of Dublin— "The Swan and the Sky-lark"-Difficulty in procuring new books. In the spring of 1831, Mrs. Hemans took leave of England, for the last time. From this point, therefore, my memorials of her life and literary pursuits (always inseparably connected) must, of necessity, be slighter than those of the time of daily personal intercourse. But it was her happy fortune, wherever she went, to attach a few faithful friends to her, and it was her nature to prefer the society of those few to the success and celebrity which she might, at will, have commanded in wider and more brilliant circles. To one of the small household band which she drew round her in Dublin, I am largely indebted for details of the manner of her life and the direction of her mind, during the last years of her pilgrimage; and for extracts from that familiar correspondence, in which she loved to journalize the thoughts and impressions of the passing hours, for the benefit of those for the time nearest and dearest her. Her more general letters to her friends in England will readily be distinguished from these. After a short stay in Dublin, Mrs. Hemans paid a visit to her brother, who was then stationed in the county of Kilkenny. The following letters were written while she was under his roof. 66 66 TO MR. L Hermitage, near Kilkenny, June 21, 1831. My dear, Sir, "The sight of your letter awoke in me, I can assure you, not a few compunctious visitings,' as I think you must have imagined I had forgot past times and all your kindness to me. This is, however, far from having been the case: I have again and again spoken of you and thought of you, and intended to write; but I can give you no idea of the strange, unsettled, agitated life I have been leading since I came to this country: obliged, amidst a thousand inward anxieties, to give my time and attention to the claims of a new society; and perpetually interrupted by a state of health more tremulous than usual. I must not lead you to suppose that I have been altogether unhappy since my leaving England: I have, on the contrary, found more of happiness and true kindness here than I have expected-still peace and leisure have been far from me, and I have scarcely been able to write a line." "Hermitage, Kilkenny, June 220, 1831. "I arrived here on Saturday last. I left Dublin with great regret, for amidst many anxieties much and unexpected happiness had met me there. brother is still in Clare, but we expect him very shortly. . My is a perfect heroine: she has sent her man servants out of the house to make room for my boys; and we are quite unprotected except by my brother's name. I must say, I feel sometimes a little nervous at night, particularly after hearing of the attacks made upon our houses to procure arms, with which our dwelling is known to be amply supplied. This county is, however, tolerably quiet; but the spirit of hatred existing between Protestant and Papist, is what I could never have conceived had I not visited these scenes. Yesterday evening I was taking a quiet walk beside the beautiful river Nore, everything looking bright, and still, and peaceful round me, when I met one of my brother's men there with pistols stuck in his belt, which I was told he always carried, on account of his being a Protestant. I askeď a young clergyman who visits us to attend me to a Catholic place of worship, as I wished to hear the service; he said that he would most willingly escort me anywhere else, and, as far as his own feelings were concerned, would go with me even there, but probably the consequence would be the desertion of almost all his congregation. You may imagine that I did not press the point. I hope in my next letter to send you the lines on Naples, I cannot tell you how much I regret being of so little use to you this year; but my life, in this land of agitation, has partaken of all that characterises the country. I have indeed found some happiness, for which I am grateful, but no peace, no leisure-and have been scarce able to write a line. Still I love Ireland, and feel that I shall do so still more. My health has not improved lately. "I am most faithfully yours, "F. H.". "I saw a few beautiful pictures at Lord Ormonde's the other day. One of those which struck me the most was a Madonna of Corregio's; so still, so earnest, so absorbed in its expression of holy love, that it realized my deepest conception of the character. What I thought most remarkable was, that all this expression is given to a countenance with nearly closed eyes, for the eyelids fall so heavily -I should rather say softly, over them." "I wish to give you an account of a rather interesting day which I lately passed, before its images become faint in my recollection. We went to Woodstock, the place where the late Mrs. Tighe, whose poetry has always been very touching to my feelings, passed the latest years of her life, and near which she is buried. The scenery of the place is magnificent, of a style which I think I prefer to every other; wild, profound glens, rich with every hue and form of foliage, and a rapid river sweeping through them, now lost and now lighting up the deep woods with sudden flashes of its waves. Altogether it reminded me more of Hawthornden, than any thing I have seen since-though it wants the solemn rock-pinnacles of that romantic place. I wish I could have been alone with Nature and my thoughts, but, to my surprise, I found myself the object of quite a reception. The Chief Justice and many other persons had been invited to meet me, and I was to be made completely the lady of the day. There was no help for it, though I never felt so much as if I wanted a large leaf to wrap me up and shelter me from all curiosity and attention. Still one cannot but feel grateful for kindness, and much was shown me. I should have told you, that Woodstock is now the seat of Mr. and Lady Louisa Tighe. Amongst other persons of the party was Mr. Henry Tighe, the widower of the poetess. He had just been exercising, I found one of his accomplishments in the translation into Latin of a little poem of mine, and I am told that his version is very elegant. We went to the tomb, 'the grave of a poetess,' where there is a monument by Flaxman it consists of a recumbent female figure, with much of the repose, the mysterious sweetness of happy death, which is to me so affecting in monumental sculpture. There is, however a very small Titania-looking sort of figure with wings, sitting at the head of the sleeper, and intended to represent Psyche, which I thought interfered wofully with the singleness of effect which the tomb would have produced unfortunately, too, the monument is carved in a very rough stone, which allows no delicacy of touch. That place of rest made me very thoughtful; I could not but reflect on the many changes which had brought me to the spot I had commemorated three years since, without the slightest idea of ever visiting it; and though surrounded by attention and the appearance of interest, my heart was envying the repose of her who slept there. 6 "Mr. Tighe has just sent me his Latin translation of my lines, the Grave of a Household.' It seems very elegant as far as I can venture to judge, but what strikes me most is the concluding thought, (so peculiarly belonging to Christianity,) and the ancient language in which it is thus embodied. Si nihil ulterius mundo, si sola voluptas I suppose the idea of an affection powerful and spiritual enough to oversweep the grave, (of course the beauty of such an idea belongs not to me, but to the spirit of our faith,) is not to be found in the loftiest strain of any classic writer." It could hardly be expected that such a visit as the one described in the foregoing extract should pass without its record. In an earlier letter, Mrs. Hemans had said, "I think I shall feel much interest in visiting the grave of a poetess. her poetry has always touched me greatly, from a similarity which I imagine I discover between her destiny and my own.' The lyric which was written after she had seen a place already visited by her in imagination, contains little more than the thoughts intimated in the letter, versified with some additional incident and imagery; and it may be noted as amongst the curiosities of authorship, that the earlier verses, produced under the strong influence of the imagination alone, and happier, because simpler, than those which may be called the offspring of memory "The Grave of a Poetess," (published among theRecords of Woman,") is throughout full of feeling, and of a spirit more cheerful,-because better able to raise itself above the cares, and changes, and partings of earth, than that which breathes in the poems of the gifted but melancholy author of "Psyche." Its moral is comprehended in the two last stanzas. "Thou hast left sorrow in thy song, A voice not loud, but deep! The glorious bowers of earth among, * Published among the "National Lyrics," and beginning "I stood where the lip of song lay low, |