I recollect, mademoiselle, having read several years ago, with much interest, some remarkable extracts from the works of M. Maurice de Guérin, a young writer cut down in the flower of his age and talents. I could not, then, fail to welcome with a peculiar satisfaction the book of Mlle. Eugénie de Guérin, faithful mirror in which is so constantly reflected the twofold affection that filled her life—the love of God and her tenderness for her brother, sweet lesson and touching example of that ardent, lively, and resigned faith which, in the midst of the sorrows of this world, only finds consolation in looking toward heaven, where those whom we love here below, separated from us in an instant by death, are united again never more to be parted. I must not defer any longer saying to you how much I appreciate this gift, and, above all, the pious motive which prompted it—as well as the expressions of devotion and attachment with which it was accompanied, in your name, as well as in that of your sister-in-law. To M. Trébutien and his daughter I beg you will also express my gratitude.
Accept for yourself, with many thanks, the assurance of my very sincere sentiments.
Henri.
To Mlle. Marie de Guérin.
SONNET.
Italian "Unification" in 1861.
The land which Improvisatore's throng
With one light bound would "freedom" improvise,
Freedom by England dragged from raging seas
Through centuries of wrestling right and wrong.
The gamesters crowned, their loaded dice downflung,
Divide their gains;[147] while—shamelessly at ease—
Gold-spangled fortune, tinselled to the knees,
Runs on the tight rope of the state new-strung!
O liberty, stern goddess, sad and grave,
To whom are dear the hearts that watch and wait,
The hand laborious, strenuous as the glaive,
The strong, staid head, the soul supreme o'er fate,
With what slow scorn thou turn'st, incensed of mien,
From mimic freedom's operatic scene!
Aubrey de Vere.