her comb had fallen on the floor, and her long dark ringlets hung in rich profusion over her neck and shoulders; her cheek glowed with animation; her lips were half unclosed; her full dark eye was radiant with the light of genius, and beaming with sensibility; her head rested on her left hand, while she held her pen in her right; she looked like the inhabitant of another sphere; she was so wholly absorbed that she did not observe my entrance. I looked over her shoulder and read the following lines:—
So soft, so melancholy, and so clear?
And do the tuneful Nine then touch the lyre,
To fill each bosom with poetic fire?
Or does some angel strike the sounding strings
Who caught from Echo the wild note he sings?
But ah! another strain, how sweet, how wild!
Now rushing low, 'tis soothing, soft, and mild.'
"The noise I made on leaving the room roused her, and she soon after brought me her 'Lines to an Æolian Harp.'"
During the winter of 1822 she wrote a poetical romance, entitled "Rodri" She burned this, save a few fragments found after her death. These indicate a wellcontrived story, and are marked by the marvelous ease and grace that characterized her versification. During this winter she wrote also a tragedy, "The Reward of Ambition," the only production she ever read aloud to her family. The following summer, her health again failing, she was withdrawn once more from school, and sent on a visit to some friends in Canada. A letter, too long to be inserted here entire, gives a very interest-
