her own excellence; while what is extraordinary, too, is to observe that, with a disposition so energetic and serious, her conversation is sweet, agreeable, natural, and even gallant, never wanting to contest a point, but leaving to speak those who desired to do so, and retaining always the power to maintain the justice of her own views." She brought, in fact, to the perusal or hearing of what was noble, that mind which is ascribed by Janin to one of his great literary contemporaries: finding him in the crowd that salutes the passing triumph of a great conqueror, he asks, "What is this young man seeking here?" "He is seeking some one who is neither a soldier nor a senator,-one of Cicero's friends, or at least a slave with whom he can speak of the man whom he considers great, leaving Cæsar to his fortune, and speaking at their ease of their common master, Cicero." What would she be seeking in such a crowd? some advocate of mind, some tribute of wise men to the eternal King; some trace, some word, some offering, some look, that reminded her of Jesus and Mary. In a word, it was heart and intelligence, it was justice and truth, or to say it more briefly still— it was God that she preferred to all things.

Finally, we derive an instructive lesson affecting literature, while meditating in this chantry, by observing that the unpretending model we are contemplating brought to all mental enjoyment the thoughts which constituted its food and its reward.

With a mind pure in regard to intentions to a degree that one can hardly fancy to one's self, and a heart tender so as to overflow with humanity, while responsive to it, she enjoyed with delight, as some one says of Fauriel, "all that is noble." In her poor innocent way she would any hour have repeated after you with approval as expressing what she too desired, "Innocuas amo delicias doctamque quietem." She gave herself up more and more to sweet affections, to nature, and to faith, and to that intellectual world which sometimes makes one forget this other. One saw her often, during the last years of her short life, seated with her book, which, owing to the shortness of her sight, she was obliged to hold close to her eyes. What is she thinking of? "Of eternity!" might have been her answer, though she would not have made it in such formal terms, so careful was she ever to conceal her merit. There are

some one,

not wanting any where great readers and greedy listeners; but, as Mme. Cornuel, writing to the Countess de Maure, says of "of the quantity of things which pass in their head, nothing can rest there sufficiently long to descend into their heart. Les frivoles bouchent le passage aux sérieuses." It was not so with her. She remembered ever what she had once read or heard, not to rest in it, but to draw it out into action, and while concealing her emotions through her exquisite tact and sense of what society sometimes required, it was easy to perceive that all true affections, and all serious questions, moved her profoundly. But the delights of literature were not for her an end-she aimed at what was higher. Like Madame the Duchess de Duras, afterwards so celebrated, of whom it used to be said by frivolous people, "Claire est très-bien, c'est dommage qu'elle ait si peu d'esprit!" she never dreamt of showing off; but uniting the cares of her household in domestic simplicity with indulgence in the most elevated thoughts, she could not wholly conceal amidst her career of active virtues the lofty consolations, towards the source of which every day she advanced silently and unostentatiously in the secret of her heart; for it was as if she had heard in her youth a voice of counsel that through her whole subsequent life she sought to practise, saying to her in the words of our eloquent contemporary,

"Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever,

Do noble deeds, not dream them all day long,
And so make life, death, and that vast for ever,
One grand sweet song *."

It followed, then, from all this observation of her intellectual character, that without having ever composed a work of imagination, or a poem, no sign of insufficiency, or of bad taste, perhaps, either, in presence of the sterile fertility of so many authors in these days, she could verify in her own mind the truth of the remark, that poesy itself is a powerful consoler. No doubt, in her its minor rays were lost in the brighter illuminations of her faith; but still these fancies, these remembrances,

*Kingsley.

these aspirations, operated in the same sense as a spiritual beneficent religion; they were, in subordination to the latter, the moderation of happy days contented with raptures of the mind and corresponding actions; they were the courage of times of mourning mingling with what emanated from the sanctuary; they were more than a power-they were strength. Truly, understood in this sense, she was a living example, that all human felicity is uncertain, but that it is still, after all, the Muse, as thus interpreted, which least, or rather, which never deceives.

From these facts, in conclusion, one may derive the important lesson, that what is best in literature consists in the treasury of feelings and thoughts of which it is only the occasional exponent. The power of expression may impart distinction and celebrity to a few; but the secret source of highest inspiration is what every one should covet. When amerced of this, what is all the rest? Alas! how often are seen verified the lines of André Chénier,

"Un mortel peut toucher une lyre sublime,

Et n'avoir qu'un cœur faible, étroit, pusillanime,
Inhabile aux vertus qu'il sait si bien chanter,

Ne les imiter point et les faire imiter."

Shakspeare ascribes the same reflection to the Duke, where he makes him exclaim,

"That we were all, as some would seem to be,

Free from our faults, as faults from seeming free!"

Oh, how much better and more glorious is it to participate in the truth of this pure and silent poetry which consists in thought and action that corresponds with it! She, at least, whose memory is so vivid within these walls, chose this latter part.

"Fam'd be her sweetness, and her parts of nature

Thrice fam'd, beyond all erudition!"

No question, however, in finishing for the day, we must admit that this choice became the more appropriate for her, in con

sequence of the calamities and sorrows of her last years, when it was natural and so completely characteristic, even of the Muse herself, to say with the poet

"À ces vains jeux de l'harmonie

Disons ensemble un long adieu;
Pour sécher les pleurs du génie
Que peut la lyre? . . . . Il faut Dieu!"

66

CHAPTER VIII.

N returning this time to the Chapel of St. John, let it be understood, from the first, that we are about to hear of homely matters, of which the memory might be thought more impressive at the hearth than in presence of the altar; but in the sequel we shall find that they are in accordance with what is greatest and best.

'Beginning with himself and with his own," says Tacitus, speaking of Agricola, "he first of all kept order in his house, which, in many respects, is a task no less arduous than to govern a province,-a se suisque orsus, primam domum suam coercuit, quod plerisque haud minus arduam est quam provinciam regere."

The memories that are to be awakened on this present visit will not, therefore, for all their homeliness, be found deprived even of dignity, in the sense of the world, since our theme embraces matter that seemed of such importance to the grave historian of the Roman Empire. Nor in this instance does he betray a feeling which our Christian ancestors, who used to say, "Diligence est à noblesse prochaine," would have deemed unworthy or exaggerated, or void of a religious interest; for not to speak of that description of the mistress of a family, which the lesson of the divine office had rendered so familiar to them, in which this attention to household duties forms the most promi

nent part, we can take up no work of the mediæval period treating on domestic manners, in union with piety, without witnessing, as in the Ménagier de Paris and the Bréviaire des Nobles, proof that they were of the same opinion, to which even the drama gave a faithful echo; for York, with Shakspeare, summing up the qualities which render women admirable, adds, in allusion unquestionably to this very faculty, as well as to self-conduct,

""Tis government that makes them seem divine,"

and Salisbury thinks that the same economy can add lustre to the fame of Warwick, saying to him,

"Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy house-keeping,
Hath won the greatest favour of the commons."

These traditionary notions and manners, practised under the high sanction of the inspired page, were at all events most characteristic of the model which recurs to us in this place. Not insensible to the charms of agreeable conversation, to all who offered it she ever had a willing ear. To poetry, to records of high charitable deeds, and to the tale of youthful heroism, like Desdemona, she too would seriously incline

"But still the house affairs would draw her thence;
Which ever as she could with haste despatch,

She'd come again."

She of whom we have to speak may be said in general to have been a representative of what is understood by the term-the family, in its general sense. She represented what constitutes the safety, the bond and charm of every home, its wise government, its holy duties, and its sweet affections; in regard to which threefold division we must proceed to speak of her with as much brevity as will be compatible with a true appreciation of her character, which will, in regard to other lessons, appear to be the more exemplary, from our not passing over these in silence as being only a necessary consequence of her faith; but, regardless of the charge of multiplying praises, giving a plain unvarnished statement, to show the fidelity with which she attended to the matters that fall under our observation here.