takings.

V.

THE HOME IN WALES.

Mrs. Hemans found peculiar pleasure in reading and speaking German. "I
am so delighted," she wrote, "when I meet with any one who knows and
loves my favourite _scelenvolle_ (full of soul) German, that I believe I
could talk of it for ever." Her sister remarks that her knowledge of the
language seemed almost as if it had been born with her.

The poetess could write humorous prose as well as serious verse. Some of
her letters written in 1822 give a very amusing description of the
inconveniences she had to put up with whilst certain alterations were
being made at Bronwylfa. She describes how at last she was driven to
seek refuge in the laundry, from which classical locality, she was wont
to say, it could be no wonder if sadly _mangled_ lines were to issue. "I
entreat you to pity me. I am actually in the melancholy situation of
Lord Byron's 'scorpion girt by fire'--her circle narrowing as she
goes--for I have been pursued by the household troops through every room
successively, and begin to think of establishing my _metier_ in the
cellar; though I dare say, if I were to fix myself as comfortably in a
hogshead as Diogenes himself, it would immediately be discovered that
some of the hoops or staves wanted repair." "There is a war of old
grates with new grates, and plaster and paint with dust and cobwebs,
carrying on in this once tranquil abode, with a vigour and animosity
productive of little less din than that occasioned by 'lance to lance
and horse to horse.' I assure you, when I make my escape about 'fall of
eve' to some of the green quiet hayfields by which we are surrounded,
and look back at the house, which, from a little distance, seems almost,
like Shakespeare's moonlight, to 'sleep upon the bank,' I can hardly
conceive how so gentle-looking a dwelling can continue to send forth
such an incessant clatter of obstreperous sound through its
honeysuckle-fringed windows. It really reminds me of a pretty shrew,
whose amiable smiles would hardly allow a casual observer to suspect the
possibility of so fair a surface being occasionally ruffled by storms."

The lyric "The Voice of Spring" was written in 1823. It was followed by
"Breathings of Spring." The season of spring had a marked influence upon
her. It was, with all its joy and beauty, generally "a time of
thoughtfulness rather than mirth." It has been well observed that autumn
in one way is a more joyous time than spring. It r