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ycose are inimitable in their childlike playfulness.
Ma Vocation I have had and admired for many years.
He is of the pure ore, a darling fairy changling of great mother Nature; the poet of the people, and, therefore, of all in the upper classes sufficiently intelligent and refined to appreciate the wit and sentiment of the people.
But his wit is so truly French in its lightness and sparkling, feathering vivacity, that one like me, accustomed to the bitterness of English tonics, suicidal November melancholy, and Byronic wrath of satire, cannot appreciate him at once.
But when used to the gentler stimuli, we like them best, and we also would live awhile in the atmosphere of music and mirth, content if we have bread for today, and hope for to-morrow.
There are fine lines in his Cinq Mai; the sentiment is as grand as Manzoni's, though not sustained by the same majestic sweep of diction, as,—
Ce rocher repousse l'esperance, L'Aigle n'est plus dans le secret des dieux, II fatigu
many admirers, and, as I now remember them, certain months about the years 1839, 1840, seem colored with the genius of these Italians.
Our walls were hung with printet by one of her friends, on the beautiful imaginative picture in the gallery of 1840, called The Dream.
The dream A youth, with gentle brow and tender cheek, Drertain mental changes brought new questions into conversation.
In the summer of 1840, she passed into certain religious states, which did not impress me as quite heae such native sterilities in her correspondent:—
to R. W. E.
23d Feb., 1840.—I am like some poor traveller of the desert, who saw, at early morning, a distaas deficient.
I have alluded to the fact, that, in the summer of 1840, Margaret underwent some change in the tone and the direction of her thoughts, tt this time, had interested her, but in no commanding degree.
But in this year, 1840, in which events occurred which combined great happiness and pain for her affect