man of genius, who seems to have
cared only for his own reflection in another soul. But this sheltered
nook of thoughtful repose, this conversational oasis in a chaotic period
had a short duration. Mme. de Beaumont died at Rome, where she had
gone in the faint hope of reviving her drooping health, in 1803.
Chateaubriand was there, watched over her last hours with Bertin, and
wrote eloquently of her death. Joubert mourned deeply and silently over
the light that had gone out of his life.

We have pleasant reminiscences of the amiable, thoughtful, and
spirituelle Mme. de Remusat, who has left us such vivid records of the
social and intimate life of the imperial court. A studious and secluded
childhood, prematurely saddened by the untimely fate of her father in
the terrible days of 1794, an early and congenial marriage, together
with her own wise penetration and clear intellect, enabled her to
traverse this period without losing her delicate tone or serious
tastes. She had her quiet retreat into which the noise and glare did
not intrude, where a few men of letters and thoughtful men of the world
revived the old conversational spirit. She amused her idle hours by
writing graceful tales, and, after the close of her court life and the
weakening of her health, she turned her thoughts towards the education
and improvement of her sex. Blended with her wide knowledge of the
world, there is always a note of earnestness, a tender coloring of
sentiment, which culminates towards the end in a lofty Christian
resignation.

We meet again at this time a woman known to an earlier generation as
Mme. de Flahaut, and made familiar to us through the pens of Talleyrand
and Gouverneur Morris. She saw her husband fall by the guillotine, and,
after wandering over Europe for years as an exile, became the wife of M.
de Souza, and, returning to Paris, took her place in a quiet corner of
the unaccustomed world, writing softly colored romances after the manner
of Mme. de La Fayette, wearing with grace the honors her literary fame
brought her, and preserving the tastes, the fine courtesies, the gentle
manners, the social charms, and the delicate vivacity of the old regime.

One recalls, too, Mme. de Duras, whose father, the noble and fearless
Kersaint, was the companion of Mme. Roland at the scaffold; who drifted
to our own shores until the storms had passed, and, after saving her
large fortune in Martinique, returned matured and saddened to France. A