The wonderful precocity of her intellect rendered it scarcely possible for those readers, beyond the then narrow circle of her acquaintance, to imagine that her poems were the production of a girl who had not yet left off her pinafores, and whose only notion of a lover was embodied in a knight wearing the brightest armour and the whitest of plumes. Such, however, was the fact, and this beau ideal preserved her from the tender passion for many a long year; none of her admirers, and they were numerous, reaching the high standard erected in her own imagination. While generally supposed to be the pining victim of unrequited love, her heart remained untouched, its overflowing tenderness being lavished upon the faithless heroes of her own creation.
At this, as well as at every other period of her life, previous to her quitting England, L. E. L. was surrounded by a small circle of female friends, living under the same roof with her, and to whom all her thoughts and feelings were well known. Being perfectly aware of her entire freedom from any affair of the heart, these friends were sometimes amused, and sometimes provoked, by the various reports which gained universal credit. At this era of her existence, the occasional
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