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awakened, and also from a sort of dread (inspired by her self-distrust) of again finding herself accessible to the least attraction in a worldly or brilliant amusement, be it what it might. Recollecting this, I asked her what she thought of these distant sounds of mirth, which brought back to me so vividly the past days. She quietly answered me, with a smile, that she never thought of those days now, and continued to look at the promenade and the starry sky with an expression she wore sometimes, and which made her really beautiful. As I write, I see her as she was then, for the moment is one of those we have spoken of as difficult to describe as it is impossible to forget. She remained a moment thus: then taking from her pocket a little book, where she set down anything that interested her in her readings, "Here," she said, "this is what is really beautiful, interesting, and important," and she read me in Latin these words of, I think, S. Augustine, "O amare! O ire! O sibi perire! O ad Deum pervenire!" Never, never have I forgotten the tone in which she read those words, nor the hour, the place, the day, when I heard them. But I feel that it is very difficult to communicate this impression. All this, however, must tend to show the nature of the change in her soul, a change which was only the more complete triumph of that great love, which without excluding one of those affections that flow from it, can alone and without any of these, be sufficient for the heart and fill it.'-Vol. ii. pp. 366-7.

Can we add anything to this? Yet there are a few traits more that must be given to show how the earthly love had raised the heart to heavenly love, and how sufficient Heaven now was to the once broken heart. We have had terrible days,' said Alexandrine, but now I mourn my Albert cheerfully.'

Her cares for the poor occupied her more and more. She gave away or sold for their benefit whatever was not absolutely necessary to her, and once when Mrs. Craven chanced to open her wardrobe, at Paris, she found nothing there but two black gowns and a small stock of linen. One day, when she had been caught in violent rain on one of the errands to the poor, which she always made on foot in all weathers, she took refuge in a house of the Sisters of Charity, where she was well known. One of the sisters told her that she had a pressing request to make her, on behalf of a poor woman who was in great need of a pair of shoes. Alexandrine at once took out the money, and presently a pair of shoes appeared, which the good sister insisted she should put on herself, instead of the worn-out pair she had on. Another time, a lady who had seen her in a church, went to the sisters of the convent it belonged to, and said that she had seen a lady, no doubt too poor to buy necessaries, and that she should be glad to send her milk. She was much confused on hearing that this was Madame Albert de la Ferronnays; but Alexandrine herself was exceedingly amused at the blunder. This, however, was not till privation had really reduced her. She became more and more attached to her duties among the Parisian poor, and more unable to leave them when her motherin-law went into the country. For several years after Albert's death she had kept on the lodgings in which he died, lending

them to priests who had to be in Paris on business; but when first her charities had begun to engross her, she gave this up as a selfish expense; and she now decided on taking an apartment at the convent of S. Thomas de Villeneuve. Mrs. Craven tried to dissuade her, feeling sure that she would injure herself by going without the comforts that she could not avoid in family life; but her mind was not to be changed, for she could not bear to leave her poor people for three months in the depth of winter.

All she could she gave to them. She would not have the fire kept up in her room when she was out, and she often returned shivering. Her diet was very different from what she was used to, and by the first week of 1848 she was seriously ill with inflammation. Her mother-in-law and Albertine were sent for; and, after an illness spent in full consciousness and perfect peace and hope, she died, on the 8th of February, 1848, having survived Albert twelve years. Her last words were not as those of one solely engrossed in the thought of reunion with him; they were of the higher Love.

The last remembrance Pauline had of her was standing in the sunshine in the cemetery at Boury, with a spray of jessamine in her hand, her face bright, her eyes on the sky, as she said:

""O Pauline, how could I not love God, how can I not be transported when I think of Him! Is there any merit in that, even of faith, when I think of His miracle in my soul? when I feel that after so loving and desiring earthly happiness, I have had it,-lost it, and been in the depth of despair? but now my soul is so transformed and filled with happiness, that all I ever knew or imagined is nothing, nothing at all, in comparison."

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But, suppose you could be offered again such a life as I had hoped for you with Albert, and for long years?

""I would not take it."

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After such a conversation it was blessed to think of her as laid in the other half of the double grave she had prepared long before, with a cross between, engraven with the words :

'Quod Deus conjunxit, homo non separabit.'

Madame de la Ferronnays survived till the 15th of November of the same year, when she died of a short illness in Mrs. Craven's house at Baden. We feel that we have not done justice to the family portraits here presented to us, drawn by their own hands. Many beautiful portions have necessarily been passed over, among them the letters from the Abbé Gerbet, and the Comte de Montalembert, which form a marked feature in the book; but we hope we have said enough to set this most attractive type of excellence in some degree before our readers' eyes, and show the gradual growth of the saint from the bright beauty. It is, perhaps, a shock to some readers to be so fully brought

into a family interior. One almost feels oneself intruding: but it is now long since these joys and sorrows have become the treasures of memory, and Mrs. Craven, in compiling her collection, has but acted in compliance with a wish long ago expressed by M. de Montalembert, to make others know that a pure and sanctified love, 'the cup that God hath deigned to bless, need not sparkle less, or rather, that it may sparkle more than the world's gay garish feast.' It is to the credit of the French that they have appreciated the beauty at least of the delineation. Only a hundred copies were printed in 1865 for private distribution; but an article in the 'Revue des Deux Mondes' made the characters of Eugénie, Albert, and Alexandrine known, and the volumes that lie before us in the spring of 1867 are of the sixth edition.

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ART. V.-The Eneid of Virgil, translated into English Verse. By JOHN CONINGTON, M. A. Corpus Professor of Latin in the University of Oxford. London: Longmans, Green & Co. 1866.

NOT so long ago it might have been inferred from their published works that the present holders of certain University professorships found a difficulty in settling down into their proper chairs. The Oxford Greek Professor was editing the Pauline Epistles, and thereby quitting his province of Classical Greek. The Corpus Professor of Latin was publishing translations or commentaries of plays of Eschylus. Nay, even within the last year, the curious in new book-lists may have discovered with puzzled wonderment that the Regius Professor of Hebrew at Cambridge has thought it worth while to put forth a text of Virgil, in which the quantities of syllables are marked 'Novo eoque facili modo,' in the fond hope of removing a stumbling block which must have stood, we suppose, in his own way, but never, that we heard of, in that of even the dullest of schoolboys. Now, though it would be unjust to class this last professor with those before mentioned, in respect of the worth and wisdom of their digressions from their allotted fields, it cannot be denied that a more wide feeling of satisfaction is likely to be evoked by the visible signs which we now discern of each professor's fruitfulness in his proper sphere. If rumour speaks truth, an edition of Plato is to be looked for ere long from Professor Jowett. And, although the Corpus Latin Professor happened to be unable to tear himself from his Eschylus until after crossing the threshold of his Latin labours, it cannot be said that his has been an unfruitful occupation of his new chair, when to a scholarly translation of the Odes of Horace, and to a learned and reflective commentary on the works of Virgil, twothirds of which are published and completed, he now adds an English version of Virgil's immortal Epic, which is calculated to enhance his reputation for scholarship and for skill in poetry. It is conceivable that, to one so imbued with classical tastes and so accustomed to research that what others have to hunt out over and over again from notes and commentaries, is laid up ready for use in the cells of his memory, the composition of a verse translation may take the pleasant form of relaxation and recreation. But not the less is the communication of such lighter labours to the reading public a matter for grateful

acknowledgment, as it affects not only the classical, but even the unclassical reader. To the former, while reading his Greek or Latin authors, reference to the pages of scholarly and accomplished translations can never be uninteresting or unserviceable: a passage which, despite of elaborate annotation, still retains around it an impenetrable mist, may be made light as the day by the help of an apt and terse translation. And to the nonclassical, if they have any care at all not to be quite in the dark as to what their classical brethren reckon household words, it is of the utmost concern to have approved copies to recur to, when they are shut out, by lack of classical education, from the famous originals. It is a higher mark of cultivation, as all must allow, to have read Homer and Virgil, second-hand, through the medium of Pope and Dryden, than not to have read them at all; and in these days of plodding resolute self-educators, the nearer a translation approaches its original, and the more faithfully without sacrifice of the essentials of poetry it represents an author's words and thoughts, the more satisfactory will it be to such, because with it they will most easily bridge over the gulf that separates them from the great writers of classical antiquity. Indeed, it is impossible to enter so thoroughly into the beauties of our own sterling poetry and prose without some knowledge of the sources to which they owe so much in tone, thought, and turn of expression. The best makeshift is a good translation; and therefore it ought to rejoice the hearts of those whose learning is confined to their mother-tongue, when news reaches them of workmanlike additions to translational literature. Such an addition is vouchsafed us in the work of which the title heads this article; and probably the aim of its author has been, in some measure at least, to provide for the large class of which we have been speaking, as well as to invite the verdict of a more select few, the classical fraternity, upon the success of his experiment. For an experiment undoubtedly it is to venture upon ground occupied erewhile by one of the mightiest masters of English poetry, and instead of fitting himself with the same heroic buskin, to have resolution enough to insist, in the classical sense, upon a more tripping measure, involving a vast amount of watchfulness to keep it up to the dignity of his argument. But though in justice to the Professor, it ought to be known that in his preface he deprecates rivalry with Dryden, and relies for making good his own footing on the modest though ingenious argument that there is room and call for a Victorian translator of the Æneid, even as there was for a Caroline; for our own part we should be inclined to justify his entrance into a field where so weighty a competitor had been beforehand with him, by his far deeper knowledge of his author, his qualifications for

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