uch cases, died of a slow consumption. But, on the
other side, the early affection never ceased to glow. Miss Seward
writes to one of her lady friends, "When my attachment to Cornet sunk
in the snow-drifts of his altered conduct, Honora Sneyd, educated in
our family from five years old, was commencing woman, and only eight
years younger than myself; more lovely, more amiable, more
interesting than any thing I ever saw in the female form. Death had
deprived me of my beloved and only sister, who had shared with me in
the delightful task of instructing our angelic pupil; and, when
disappointed love threw all the energies of my soul into the channel
of friendship, Honora was its chief object. The charms of her
society, when her advancing youth gave equality to our connection,
made Lichfield an Edenic scene to me. Ah, how deeply was I a fellow
sufferer with Major Andre on her marriage! We both lost her for
ever."

The following verses, written by Anna to Honora, from the seaside,
are pleasing in the picture they present and in the sentiment they
enshrine. The prophecy they make has also been fulfilled:

I write Honora on the sparkling sand!
The envious waves forbid the trace to stay:
Honora's name again adorns the strand,
Again the waters bear their prize away!

So Nature wrote her charms upon thy face,
The cheek's bright bloom, the lip's envermeilled dye,
And every gay and every witching grace
That youth's warm hours and beauty's stores supply.

But Time's stern tide, with cold Oblivion's wave,
Shall soon dissolve each fair, each fading charm;
E'en Nature's self, so powerful, cannot save
Her own rich gifts from this o'erwhelming harm.

Love and the Muse can boast superior power;
Indelible the letters they shall frame:
They yield to no inevitable hour,
But on enduring tablets write thy name.

Romney, in his fancy-picture of Serena reading by candle-light,
accidentally produced an accurate likeness of this lost friend of
Miss Seward's heart. "Drawing his abstract idea of perfect
loveliness, the form and the face of Honora Sneyd rose beneath his
pencil." This beauteous resemblance Anna hung in her room, and made
her constant companion. "It contributes to endear, as the bright
reality endeared, in times long past, this pleasant mansion to my
affections. Thus are those dear lineaments ever present to my sight,
retouching the traits of memory, over which indistinctness is apt to
steal." Again she says, "The luxury of