in 1844, on the death of Sir Timothy Shelley, he succeeded to the title.

But, at the same moment that happier and brighter prospects seemed to open to her view, and when she had made arrangements for writing the life of her husband, symptoms of illness, of a threatening character, showed themselves. From time to time they appeared and subsided; but gradually her old energy went, and she died in London on the 21st of February, 1851, in the fiftyfourth year of her age.

The following verses on her death appeared in the Leader:

LINES ON THE DEATH OF MRS. SHELLEY.

Another, yet another, snatch'd away,

By Death's grasp, from among us! Yet one more
Of Heaven's anointed band, ‚—a child of genius, -
A peeress, girt about with magic powers,
That could at will evoke from her wild thought
Spirits unearthly, monster-shaped, to strike
Terror within us, and strange wonderment, —
Renewing, realizing, once again,

With daring fancy, on her thrilling page,

The fabled story of Prometheus old.

O gifted sister, lovely in thyself,

And claiming from the world the meed of love!
How fondly art thou link'd within our breasts
With his dear memory whose name thou bar'st;
How doubly lov'd because entwined with him!

Mourn her not, Earth! her spirit, disenthrall'd,

No more shall droop in lonely widowhood;
Its happy flight is wing'd to join again

In endless fellowship, 'mid brighter spheres,

The husband of her heart, the bright-ey'd child

Whom Fate tore from us in his early bloom,
The Poet of the Soul! whose Orphic song,
Steep'd to its depths within the light divine
Of Nature's loveliness, and fraught all o'er
With struggling yearnings for the weal of man,
Descended on each sorrow-canker'd life

Like heaven's dews upon the sunburnt plain.

Mourn her not, Earth! she is at rest with him,
The mighty minstrel of the impassion'd lay, -
The Poet-martyr of a creed too bright,
Whose lofty hymnings were so oft attuned
Unto the music of her own pure name,
The theme and inspiration of his lyre.

Happy departed ones, a brief farewell!
Till friend clasps friend upon the silent shore.

Edinburgh, February 24th, 1851.

E. W. L.

EXTRACTS

FROM

MRS. SHELLEY'S PRIVATE JOURNAL.

SOME quotations from this journal have been made in the preceding pages; but further extracts are here appended, for the sake of the interest they possess.

"October 2d, 1822.- On the 8th of July I finished my journal. This is a curious coincidence. The date still remains-the fatal 8th a monument to show that all ended then. And I begin again? Oh, never! But several motives induce me, when the day has gone down, and all is silent around me, steeped in sleep, to pen, as occasion wills, my reflections and feelings. First, I have no friend. For eight years I communicated, with unlimited freedom, with one whose genius far transcending mine, awakened and guided my thoughts. I conversed with him; rectified my errors of judgment; obtained new lights from him; and my mind was satisfied. Now I am alone oh, how alone. The stars may behold my tears, and the winds drink my sighs; but my thoughts

are a sealed treasure, which I can confide to none.

think of

But

can I express all I feel? Can I give words to thoughts and feelings that as a tempest, hurry me along? Is this the sand that the ever-flowing sea of thought would impress indelibly? Alas! I am alone. No eye answers mine; my voice can with none assume its natural modulation. What a change! Oh, my beloved Shelley! how often during those happy days - happy, though checkered I thought how superiorly gifted I had been in being united to one to whom I could unveil myself, and who could understand me! Well, then, I am now reduced to these white pages, which I am to blot with dark imagery. As I write, let me think what he would have said if, speaking thus to him, he could have answered me. Yes, my own heart, I would fain know what you my desolate state; what you think I ought to do, what to think. I guess you would answer thus : — 'Seek to know your own heart, and, learning what it best loves, try to enjoy that.' Well, I cast my eyes around, and looking forward to the bounded prospect in view, I ask myself what pleases me there. My child; -SO many feelings arise when I think of him, that I turn aside to think no more. Those I most loved are gone forever; those who held the second rank are absent ; and among those near me as yet, I trust to the disinterested kindness of one alone. Beneath all this, my imagination ever flags. Literary labors, the improvement of my mind, and the enlargement of my ideas, are the only occupations that elevate me from my lethargy; all events seem to lead me to that one point, and the courses of destiny

me.

having dragged me to that single resting-place, have left Father, mother, friend, husband, children - all made, as it were, the team that conducted me here; and now all except you, my poor boy (and you are necessary to the continuance of my life), all are gone, and I am left to fulfil my task. So be it!

I

"October 5th. * - Well, they are come; and it is all as I said. I awoke as from sleep, and thought how I had vegetated these last days; for feeling leaves little trace on the memory if it be, like mine, unvaried. had felt for and with myself alone, and I awake now to take a part in life. As far as others are concerned, my sensations have been most painful. I must work hard amidst the vexations that I perceive are preparing for to preserve my peace and tranquillity of mind. I must preserve some, if I am to live; for since I bear at the bottom of my heart a fathomless well of bitter waters, the workings of which my philosophy is ever at work to repress, what will be my fate if the petty vexations of life are added to this sense of eternal and infinite misery?

me

"Oh, my child! what is your fate to be? You alone reach me; you are the only chain that links me to time; but for you I should be free. And yet I cannot be destined to live long! Well, I shall commence my task, commemorate the virtues of the only creature worth loving or living for, and then, may be, I may join him.

*Leigh Hunt and his family. - ED.