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ed with glorious powers of song; and, although introduced as a daughter of Florence—

—————"of that land
Where the poet's lip and the painter's hand
Are most divine"—

she might be even L. E. L. herself; for what were the multitude of songs she had been pouring out for three years past, but "improvisings?" and, as some forlorn hope or blighted affection was generally their theme, so was it here—the story of love and suffering, hope and despair, was but amplified and elevated; the "moral" was the same—

"It was my evil star above,
    Not my sweet lute, that wrought me wrong;
It was not song that taught me love,
    But it was love that taught me song."

And thus, though it was but Sappho who sang, Sappho and L. E. L. were voted to be one, and the minstrel was identified as a martyr to ill-starred passion and blighted hope.

The assertion that many of L. E. L.'s songs were simply "improvisings," may almost be taken in a literal sense. An example is supplied in one of the minor pieces that fill up this volume—the sketch of "St. George's Hospital." It was long ago pointed out to us as an instance of the ease with which her fancy applied itself to any subject, and of the rapidity with which she embodied her ideas in verse. Passing the spot with a party of friends, she invited one of them to give her a subject for a sketch, and he carelessly suggested the hospital. Arrived at Brompton, the pen was put in action; and, in a space of time that seemed scarcely sufficient for transcribing the lines legibly,