So sweetly sang her joys the clouds along, Through the soft silence of the list'ning night.' To see him and love him were the same, he is so noble in his ways, and yet so affable and mild.2 His form accorded with a mind, Lively and ardent,- frank and kind.3 Women, in all countries, are civil, obliging, tender, and humane: they are ever inclined to be gay and cheerful, timorous and prudent, and they do not hesitate, like men, to perform a generous action; more liable, perhaps, to err than men, but, in general, more disinterested, more virtuous, and performing more good actions than men. I never addressed myself, in the language of kindness, to a woman, whether civilised or savage, without receiving a kind and friendly answer. In my extensive wanderings in foreign climes, if hungry, thirsty, wet, cold, or sick, WOMAN has ever been friendly to me, most uniformly so.4 O WOMAN! in ordinary cases so mere a mortal, how, in the great and rare events of life, dost thou swell into an angel! 5 That dear woman, who forms his happiness, and embellishes his life." When I approach Her loveliness, so absolute she seems, And in herself complete; so well to know 1 Milton (from the Circumcision). 2 Tancred and Sigismunda. 3 Scott. 6 Garrick (Corr.). 4 Ledyard. 5 Bulwer. 7 Par. Lost. CHAP. XV. DESCRIPTIONS. I LOVE the bell that calls to prayer, and the village church opening its doors to the devout, the innocent, and the aged: I love to see the great of this world seeking the quiet altar, and kneeling at it with the lowly.' Un rayon de l'amour divin descendoit sur moi pendant la solemnité tranquille du dimanche. Le bourdonnement sourd de la cloche remplissoit mon âme du pressentiment de l'avenir, et ma prière étoit une jouissance ardente.2 He (Scott) desired to be wheeled through his rooms, and we moved him leisurely for an hour or more up and down the hall and the great library. "I have seen much," he kept saying, "but nothing more." He like my ain house: give me one turn was gentle as an infant, and allowed himself to be put to bed again, the moment we told him that we thought he had enough for one day. . . . He expressed a wish that I should read to him; and when I asked from what book, he said, "Need 1 Sketches in the Pyrenees. 2 Madame de Staël (Translation of Faust). See L'Allemagne. you ask? there is but one." I chose the 14th chapter of St. John's Gospel. Scott on his death-bed. "Lockhart, I may have but a minute to speak to you: my dear, be a good man, be virtuous, be religious, be a good man. Nothing else will give you comfort when you come to lie here." He paused, and I said, Shall I send for Sophia and Anne? "No," said he; "don't disturb them. Poor souls! I know they were up all night -God bless you all;" with this he sank into a very tranquil sleep.. About half past one P.M. on the 21st of September (1832), Sir Walter breathed his last, in the presence of all his children. It was a beautiful day, so warm, that every window was wide open, and so perfectly still, that the sound, of all others, most delicious to his ear, the gentle ripple of the Tweed over its pebbles, was distinctly audible as we knelt around the bed, and his eldest son kissed and closed his eyes.' Another day, and a bright one to the external world, again opens on us: the air soft, and the flowers smiling, and the leaves glittering. They cannot refresh her to whom mild weather was a natural enjoyment. Cerements of lead and of wood already hold her; cold earth must have her soon. But it is not my Charlotte, it is not the bride of my youth, the mother of my children, that will be laid among the ruins of Dryburgh, which we have so often visited in gaiety and pastime. No! no! She 1 Scott (Life by Lockhart, vii. 394.). is sentient and conscious of my emotions somewhere -somehow: where we cannot tell; how we cannot tell; yet would I not at this moment renounce the mysterious yet certain hope that I shall see her in a better world, for all that this world can give me.1 We are thoroughly sensible of your humanity and compassion to this desolate house. We are as well as people can be who have nothing farther to hope or fear in this world. We are in a state of quiet; but it is the tranquillity of the grave—in which all that could make life interesting to us is laid and to which we are hastening as fast as God pleases. This place is no longer pleasant to us! And yet we have more satisfaction, if it may be so called, here than any where else. . . . We have had a loss which time and reflection rather increase the weight of. I declare to you that I feel more this day, than on the dreadful day in which I was deprived of the comfort and support, the pride and ornament, of my existence.2 The wan eye of sorrow loves to gaze Upon its sacred hoard of treasured woes Yes, there are real mourners: I have seen A fair, sad girl, mild, suffering, and serene; 1 Scott (Life by Lockhart). 2 Burke to Mrs. Crewe, on the death of his son. Neatly she dress'd, nor vainly seem'd to expect She saw at once, yet sank not, trembled not, Beneath that grief, that loneliness of lot. Within that meek, fair form were feelings high, Which deem'd not, till they found, their energy. While yet was hope, they soften’d— flutter'd—wept — All lost that softness died not; but it slept; And o'er its slumber rose that strength which said, For now I stand, as one upon a rock Environ'd with a wilderness of sea; Who marks the waxing tide grow, wave by wave, That painful, helpless, clearness of vision which we have been sensible of in a horrid dream. We were sensible of one another's weakness of intellect, though blind to our own; yet we were calm and resigned to our fate, not a murmur escaped us, 1 Crabbe. 3 Titus Andronicus. at least, Shakspeareian. 2 The Corsair. Certainly this passage and the first act are, S |