“J’amie une boudoir étroite qu’un demi jour eclaire,
La mon cour est chez lui, le premier demi jour
Fruit par la volupté, menage pour l’amour,
La discrete amitié, veut aussi du mystère,
Cluand de nos bons amis dans un lieu limitie,
Le cercle peu nombreux près de nous rassemble
Le sentiment, la paix, la franche liberté
Preside en commun,” &c.
I wish you could see this creature, when anything is said or read that comes home to her heart, or strikes in immediate unison with the exquisite tone of her feelings. Never sure was there a finer commentary than her looks and gestures passed on any work of interest which engages her attention. Before I had finished the perusal of this charming little fragment, the pencil had dropped from her fingers; and often she waved her beautiful head and smiled, and breathed a faint exclamation of delight; and when I laid down the book, she said, while she leaned her face on her clasped hands——
“And I too have a boudoir!—but even a bou-doir may become a dreary solitude, except”——she paused; and I added, from the poem I had just read, “except that within its social little limits