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traced in all her effusions. In her descriptive poetry she seems to have observed nature with the loving eye of a woman, rather than the searching glance of the artist; and she appropriates the scenery, so to speak, to her own affections. The following was written to commemorate her return to her home:

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RETURN TO TOMANICK.

Hail, happy shades! though clad with heavy snows,

At sight of you with joy my bosom glows.

Ye arching pines, that bow with every breeze,
Ye poplars, elms, all hail my well known trees!
And now my peaceful mansion strikes my eye,
And now the tinkling rivulet I spy;

My little garden, Flora, hast thou kept,
And watch'd my pinks and lilies while I wept ?
Or has the grubbing swine, by furies led,
The enclosure broke, and on my flowerets fed?

Ah me! that spot with blooms so lately graced,
With storms and driving snows is now defaced;
Sharp icicles from every bush depend,

And frosts all dazzling o'er the beds extend:
Yet soon fair spring shall give another scene,
And yellow cowslips gild the level green;
My little orchard sprouting at each bough,
Fragrant with clustering blossoms deep shall glow
Ah! then 't is sweet the tufted grass to tread,
But sweeter slumbering in the balmy shade;
The rapid humming-bird, with ruby breast,
Seeks the parterre with early blue-bells drest,
Drinks deep the honeysuckle dew, or drives
The labouring bee to her domestic hives:
Then shines the lupine bright with morning gems,
And sleepy poppies nod upon their stems;
The humble violet and the dulcet rose,
The stately lily then, and tulip blows.

Farewell, my Plutarch! farewell, pen and mise!
Nature exults-shall I her call refuse?
Apollo fervid glitters in my face,

And threatens with his beam each feeble grace:
Yet still around the lovely plants I toil,
And draw obnoxious herbage from the soil;
Or with the lime-twigs little birds surprise,
Or angle for the trout of many dyes.

But when the vernal breezes pass away,
And loftier Phoebus darts a fiercer ray,
The spiky corn then rattles all around,
And dashing cascades give a pleasing sound;
Shrill sings the locust with prolonged note,
The cricket chirps familiar in each cot.
The village children rambling o'er yon hill,
With berries all their painted baskets fill.
They rob the squirrel's little walnut store,
And climb the half exhausted tree for more;
Or else to fields of maize nocturnal hie,
Where hid, the elusive water-melons lie;
Sportive, they make incisions in the rind,
The riper from the immature to find;
Then load their tender shoulders with the prey.
And laughing bear the bulky fruit away.

BLESSINGTON, COUNTESS OF,

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"She was largely indebted to Nature for surpassing loveliness of person and graceful and ready wit. Circumstances connected with the earlier years of her life (to which it is needless to refer) told' against her through the whole of her career; but we entirely believe that the Nature which gave her beauty, gave her also those desires to be good which constitute true virtue. Those who speak lightly of this accomplished woman, might have better means to do her justice if they knew but a tithe of the cases that might be quoted of her generous sympathy, her ready and liberal aid, and her persevering sustenance whenever a good cause was to be helped, or a virtuous principle was to be promulgated."

She wrote with great facility and elegance of language, but her style is too diffuse, particularly in her novels. HerIdler in Italy," and "Con

WAS born in Ireland, Sept. 1st, 1789. Her maiden name was Marguerite Power; she was the second daughter of Edmund Power, Esq., of Car-versations with Lord Byron," are her best works; rabeen, in the county of Waterford. Marguerite Power was very beautiful, and married, at the early age of fifteen, Captain Farmer, of the fortyseventh regiment. He died in 1817; and, in the following year, Mrs. Farmer married her second husband, Charles John Gardner, earl of Blessing

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the last is very interesting, the subjects owing. probably, much to the spirit with which the hero of the book discourses. The list of Lady Blessington's works is large, comprising the following:

"The Magic Lantern," "Sketches and Fragments," "Tour in the Netherlands," "Conversations with Lord Byron," "The Repealers," "The Two Friends," "The Victims of Society," "The Idler in France," "The Idler in Italy," "The Governess," "Confessions of an Elderly Lady," "Confessions of an Elderly Gentleman," "Desul

tory Thoughts," "The Belle of a Season," "Lot-❘ tery of Life," "Meredith," "Strathern," "Memoirs of a Femme de Chambre." She wrote also several illustrated books of poetry. The following is from the "Conversations," &c.:

LORD BYRON IN 1823.

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"Saw Lord Byron for the first time. pression of the first few moments disappointed me, as I had, both from the portraits and descriptions given, conceived a different idea of him. I had fancied him taller, with a more dignified and commanding air, and I looked in vain for the hero looking sort of person with whom I had so long identified him in imagination. His appearance is highly prepossessing; his head is finely shaped, and the forehead open, high, and noble; his eyes are grey and full of expression, but one is visibly larger than the other; the nose is large and well shaped, but, from being a little too thick, it looks better in profile than in front face; his mouth is the most remarkable feature in his face, the upper lip of Grecian shortness, the corners descending, the lips full and finely cut. In speaking, he shows his teeth very much, and they are white and even, but I observed that even in his frequent smiles there is a scornful expression, that is evidently natural, and not, as many suppose, affected. His chin is large and well shaped, and finishes well the oval of his face. He is extremely thin, indeed so much so, that his figure has almost a boyish air; his face is pale, but not the paleness of ill health, but the fairness of a dark-haired person, and his hair, which is getting rapidly grey, is of a dark brown and curls naturally; he uses a good deal of oil in it, which makes it look still darker. His countenance is full of expression, it gains on the beholder the more it is seen, and leaves an agreeable impression. I should say that melancholy was its prevailing character, as I observed that when any observation elicited a smile, it appeared to linger but for a moment on his lip, which instantly resumed its former expression of seriousness. His whole appearance is remarkably gentlemanlike, and he owes nothing of this to his toilet, as his coat appears to have been many years made, is much too large-and all his garments convey the idea of having been purchased readymade, so ill do they fit him. There is a gaucherie in his movements, which evidently proceeds from the perpetual consciousness of his lameness, that appears to haunt him, for he tries to conceal his foot when seated, and when walking has a nervous rapidity in his manner. He is very slightly lame, and the deformity of his foot is so little remarkable, that I am not now aware which foot it is. His voice and accents are peculiarly agreeable, but effeminate, clear, harmonious, and so distinct, that though his general tone in speaking is rather low than high, not a word is lost. His manners are as unlike my preconceived notions of them as his appearance. I had expected to find him a dignified, cold, reserved, and haughty person, resembling those mysterious personages he so loves to paint in his works, and with whom he has been so often identified by the good-natured world: but

nothing can be more different; for were I to point out the prominent defect of Lord Byron, I should say it was flippancy, and a total want of that natural self-possession and dignity which ought to characterize a man of birth and education.

LORD BYRON'S ILL-TEMPER.

Lord Byron dined with us to-day; we all observed that he was evidently discomposed: the dinner and servants had no sooner disappeared, than he quoted an attack against himself, in some newspaper, as the cause. He was very much irritated much more so than the subject meritedand showed how keenly alive he is to censure, though he takes so little pains to avoid exciting it. This is a strange anomaly that I have observed in Byron-an extreme susceptibility to censorious observations, and a want of tact in not knowing how to steer clear of giving cause to them, that is extraordinary. He winces under castigation, and writhes in agony under the infliction of ridicule, yet gives rise to attack every day.

Ridicule is, however, the weapon he most dreads, perhaps because it is the one he wields with most power; and I observe he is sensitively alive to its slightest approach. It is also the weapon with which he assails all; friend and foe alike come under its cutting point; and the laugh which accompanies each sally, as a deadly incision is made in some vulnerable quarter, so little accords with the wound inflicted, that it is as though one were struck down by summer lightning while admiring its brilliant play.

Byron likes not contradiction: he waxed wroth to-day, because I defended a friend of mine whom he attacked, but ended by taking my hand and saying he honoured me for the warmth with which I defended an absent friend, adding with irony, "Moreover, when he is not a poet, or even a prose writer, by whom you can hope to be repaid by being handed down to posterity as his defender."

"I often think," said Byron, "that I inherit my violence and bad temper from my poor mother, not that my father, from all I could ever learn, had a much better; so that it is no wonder I have such a very bad one. As long as I can remember anything, I recollect being subject to violent paroxysms of rage, so disproportioned to the cause as to surprise me when they were over; and this still continues. I cannot coolly view anything that excites my feelings; and once the lurking devil within me is roused, I lose all command of myself. I do not recover a good fit of rage for days after: mind, I do not by this mean that the ill humour continues, as, on the contrary, that quickly subsides, exhausted by its own violence; but it shakes me terribly-and leaves me low and nervous after. Depend on it, people's tempers must be corrected while they are children; for not all the good resolutions in the world can enable a man to conquer habits of ill humour or rage, however he may regret having given way to them. My poor mother was generally in a rage every day, and used to render me sometimes almost frantic; particularly, when, in her passion, she reproached me with my personal deformity, I

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LAJKD KT24/3 + 22/120 FOR HIS WIFE.

I do má teens, at ever having met Byron that ba dua wa, in wine way on viher, introduce the mijn od laty Byrom. The impression left on my mind was, that we omulumy socupied his tonghite, and that he most anxiously desired a Tam with her. He declared that his marriage was free from every interested motive; and if ma founded on love, as love is generally viewed, a wild, engrossing and ungovernable paskion, there was quite sufficient liking in it to have Insured happiness had his temper been better. He said that laly Byron's appearance had pleased him from the first moment, and had always continued to please him; and that, had his pecuniary affaire been in a less ruinous state, his temper would not have been excited, as it daily, hourly was, during the brief period of their union, by the, demands of insolent creditors, whom he was unable to satisfy, and who drove him nearly out of his senses, until he lost all command of himself, and so forfeited lady Byron's affection. "I must admit," said he, "that I could not have left a very agreeable impression on her mind. With my irascible temper, worked upon by the constant attacks of duns, no wonder that I became gloomy, violent, and I fear often personally uncivil, if no worse, and so disgusted her; though, had she really loved me, she would have borne with my infirmities, and made allowance for my provocations. I have written to her repeatedly, and am still in the habit of writing long letters to her, many of which I have sent, but without ever receiving an answer, and others that I did not send, because I despaired of their doing any good. I will show you some

A STV TEAR

There is something that excite prate and s lens refertons in this new page, 1gened in the book of life. I never could understand how people can dance out the ill year, and weierme a the new with galety and rejtorings. If the departed year has brought we som, and over how few does it revolve withist bringing 31 we look an its departure with chastened feelings; and if it circle has been marked by bright days, how ca we see it die witbeat indulging a tender melan choly? I felt all this last night, when the ghosts of departed joys stood before my mind's eye; and I breathed a heartfelt aspiration that the coming year may pass as free from heavy trials as the last. What a merciful arrangement of Divine Providence is the impenetrable veil which covers our destinies! And yet there are mortals who have desired to pierce it; who have thirsted for that knowledge which, if obtained, might empoison the present. How worse than vain is this desire of prying into futurity! Do we not know that our lives, and those of all dear to us, hang on so frail a thread, that a moment may see it cut by inexorable fate!-that it is the condition of our being to behold our friends (the links that bind us to existence,) snapt widely! And yet we would wish to lift the dread veil that hides the yawning graves, to be filled, perhaps in a few days, by some one whose death will render earth a desert. Far, far

from me be this unenviable prescience; and let me not tremble for the future by foreseeing what it contains.

OF DANCING AND DRESS IN FRANCE.

All we have heard in praise of French dancing is borne out by what I have seen even in this provincial town. Nothing can be more graceful, or unaffected; no attempt at display is visible; no entre-chats, that alarm people with tender feet for their safety; and no exhibition of vigour likely to bring its practisers to the melting mood; a mood

never sufficiently to be reprobated in refined society. The waltz in France loses its objectionable familiarity, by the manner in which it is performed. The gentleman does not clasp his fair partner round the waist with a freedom repugnant to the modesty and destructive to the ceinture of the lady; but so arranges it, that he assists her movements, without incommoding her delicacy or her drapery. In short, they manage these matters better in France than with us; and though no advocate for this exotic dance, I must admit that, executed as I have seen it, it could not offend the most fastidious eye.

The French toilette, too, even at this distance from the capital, is successfully attended to; an elegant simplicity distinguishes that of the young ladies, whose robes of organdé or tulle, of a snowy whiteness, well buckled ceinture, bouquet of flowers, well-cut shoes, and delicately white gloves, defy criticism, and convey the impression of having been selected by the Graces to be worn for that night only. No robe of materials too expensive to be quickly laid aside, or chiffonée and fanée by use, here meets the sight; no ceinture that betrays the pressure it inflicts; and no gloves that indicate the warmth of the wearer's feelings, or those of her partner, are to be seen. The result is, that the young ladies are simply and tastefully attired, with an extreme attention to the freshness of their toilette, and a total avoidance of finery. A much greater degree of prudery, if it may be so called, is exercised in France than in England, with regard to dress; the robes of ladies of all ages conceal much more of the bust and shoulders. They claim some merit for this delicacy, though ill-natured people are not wanting who declare that prudence has more to say to the concealment than modesty; the French busts and shoulders being very inferior to the English. Of the former I have had no means of judging, because they are so covered by the dress; but of the latter, all must pronounce that they are charming. Great reserve is maintained by the French ladies in society; shaking hands with gentlemen is deemed indecorous; but to touch a lady's hand with the lips, while bowing over it, is considered respectful. The conversation of young ladies with their partners in the dance, is nearly confined to monosyllables; and when ended, they resume their seats by the side of their respective mothers, or chaperons, only speaking when spoken to, and always with an air of reserve, which is never laid aside in public.

BLOMBERG, BARBARA,

A YOUNG lady of noble birth in Ratisbon, mistress of Charles V., emperor of Germany. She was the reputed mother of the natural son of Charles, Don John of Austria, who, dying in 1578, recommended her, and her son, Pyramus Conrad, whom she afterwards had by her husband, to the protection of Philip II. Accordingly, Philip sent for Barbara into Spain, and settled her with a handsome equipage at Mazote.

BIBI JAND,

QUEEN of Dekan in Hindostan in the sixteenth century, was a wise and able princess. She main

tained her dominions in peace and prosperity, and repulsed with success the attacks of the Moguls, who wished to subjugate them.

BILDERJIK, KATHARINE WILHELMINA,

WIFE of the celebrated poet of Holland, died at Haarlaem, in 1831. She was herself distinguished for her poetic abilities; and, in 1816, obtained a prize offered at Ghent for the best poem on the battle of Waterloo.

BILLINGTON, ELIZABETH,

THE most celebrated English singer of her day, was born in England, in 1770. She was the daughter of Mr. Weichsell, a German. At the age of fourteen she made her first appearance as a singer, at Oxford; and two years afterwards married Mr. Billington, whom she accompanied to Dublin. Here she made her début in the opera of " Orpheus and Eurydice." On returning to London, she appeared at Covent Garden with great success, and rapidly acquired a high reputation. She afterwards visited the continent to avail herself of the instructions of the masters of the art in Paris and Italy. In 1796, she appeared at Venice and at Rome, receiving everywhere the loudest expressions of applause. In 1801, she returned to the London stage, and astonished the whole world by her Mandane, a performance that has hardly ever been equalled in English opera. The last exhibition of her powers was for the benefit of a charity at Whitehall chapel; the queen, the prince-regent, and most of the branches of the royal family, being present. She left England in 1817, and died soon after at an estate she had purchased in the Venetian territories. Her character as a private individual was very bad.

BILLIONI, N. BUSSA,

A CELEBRATED actress at the theatres of France and Brussels, died in 1783.

BOCCAGE, MARIE ANNE DU,

A CELEBRATED French poetess, member of the academies of Rome, Bologna, Padua, Lyons, and Rouen, was born in Rouen in 1710, and died in 1802. She was educated in Paris in a nunnery, where she evinced a love of poetry. She became the wife of a receiver of taxes in Dieppe, who died soon after the marriage, leaving her a youthful widow. She concealed her talents, however, till the charms of youth were past, and first published her productions in 1746. The first was a poem "On the Mutual Influence of the Fine Arts and Sciences." This gained the prize from the academy of Rouen. She next attempted an imitation of Paradise Lost, in six cantos; then of the "Death of Abel;" next a tragedy, the "Amazons;" and a poem in ten cantos, called "The Columbiad." Madame du Boccage was praised by her contemporaries with an extravagance, for which only her sex and the charms of her person can account. Forma Venus arte Minerva, was the motto of her admirers, among whom were Voltaire, Fontenelle. and Clairaut. She was always surrounded by distinguished men, and extolled in a multitude of

poems, which, if collected, would fill several volumes. There is a great deal of entertaining matter in the letters which she wrote on her travels in England and Holland, and in which one may plainly see the impression she made upon her contemporaries. Her works have been translated into English, Spanish, German and Italian.

The following is a specimen of the versification of Madame Boccage. These effusions may well be styled the poetry of polite life, and therefore we insert them in the language of the writer. The piquancy and grace, which give effect to the original, would be nearly lost in a translation of these pretty, sparkling French compliments into plain common sense, and unsentimental English rhyme.

A. M. BAILLY,

De l'Académie des Sciences,

Sur son Histoire de l'Astronomie Ancienne et Moderne.

O toi dont le savoir étonne.

Mais qui sais, en l'ornant de fleurs, Instruire et charmer tes lecteurs,

Baily, que la gloire environne;

Ton style enchanteur et profond,

Des lauriers qui couvrent ton front.

Te promet la triple couronne.
Le public déjà te la donne.

Du Musée où brillaient jadis

Mairan, Voltaire et les Corneilles,

La palme est due à tes merveilles.

Le Lycée, où nos érudits

Du vieux tems vantent les écrits,
Garde un prix pour tes doctes veilles.
Dès long-tems tes noms sont inscrits
Dans la savante Académie.
Là, ton œil, que guide Uranie,
Des fastes primitifs instruit,

Lit dans l'oubli du tems qui fuit;
Et si ta sublime magie
A voir l'avenir te conduit,
Sous tes crayons, malgré l'envie,
Les traits peints au regard séduit,
Y prendront la forme et la vie;
Une Sibylle le prédit,
La prédiction est accomplie,
Tout est possible à ton génie.

BOIS DE LA PIERRE, LOUISE MARIE, A LADY of Normandy, who possessed some poetical merit, and wrote memoirs for the history of Normandy, &c. She died Sept. 14th, 1730, aged sixty-seven.

BONAPARTE, RAMOLINA MARIE LETITIA,

Was born at Ajaccio in the island of Corsica, in 1748. The family of Ramolini is of noble origin, and is derived from the counts of Colatto. The founder of the Corsican branch had married the daughter of a doge of Genoa, and had received from that republic great and honourable distinctions. The mother of Madame Letitia married a second time a Swiss named Fesch, whose family was from Basle. He was a Protestant, but was proselyted by his wife, and entered the Catholic church. From this second marriage was born the cardinal Fesch, half-brother of Madame Bonaparte. Letitia was one of the most beautiful girls of Corsica. She married Charles Bonaparte in 1766; he was a friend of Paoli, and a man of untarnished

honour. It is idle to insist on the nobility of the Bonaparte family, since nobody can deny that the deeds of Napoleon were at least equal to those of the founders of any of the most splendid genealogies in Europe; but as no less a person than Chateaubriand has condescended to second the useless falsehoods of those who represented the emperor as springing from a low and vulgar race, it may here be stated, that from Nicolao Bonaparte, exiled as a Ghibellin from Florence, in 1268, to Charles, the Bonapartes can count seven generations of nobility.

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Letitia Ramolini espoused Charles Bonaparte in the midst of civil discords and wars; through every vicissitude she followed her husband, and as few persons have been placed in more difficult conjunctures, few have exhibited such strength of mind, courage, fortitude, and equanimity. The most unexampled prosperity, and most unlookedfor adversity have found her equal to the difficulties of each. Her eight children who lived to maturity were the following: Joseph, king of Naples, and afterwards of Spain; Napoleon; Eliza, grand-duchess of Tuscany; Lucien; Pauline, princess Borghese; Louis, king of Holland; Caroline, queen of Naples; and Jerome, king of Westphalia.

In 1785 Charles Bonaparte being sent to France as a deputy from the Corsican nobility, was seized with a cancer of the stomach, and died at Montpelier in the arms of his son Joseph. He left a widow with eight children, and no fortune. Two of the family were educated at the expense of the government - Napoleon at Brienne, and Eliza at St. Cyr-while the others found their mother an instructress capable and energetic. Hers was a character that displayed its resources in difficulties; and she always managed to maintain her children in the position to which they were naturally entitled. She was fond of saying of Napoleon, "That he had never given her a moment's pain, not even at the time which is almost universally woman's hour of suffering." The 15th of August, Madame Bonaparte was coming out of church, when she was attacked with symptoms of

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