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America, for Lamartine is to most people in the country. I was shown through several ante-chambers into a drawing-room, where stood the poet entertaining some visitors; he bowed, requested me to wait a few moments, and withdrew with his visitors into another room. I examined the apartment: a lofty room, carved and richly gilded, three long windows opening on to a balcony commanding a garden full of trees. The room contained a rich carpet and purple velvet couches and chairs, some portraits, an exquisite female profile in bas-relief, a golden chandelier from the ceiling, some antique vases, &c., and a soft green light from the trees of the large garden diffused through the room. The door opened and Lamartine entered; very tall and slender, but the most graceful man I have ever seen, every movement was music; grey eyes and hair. The little bust is a pretty good likeness. He has the gentlemanly voice (Uncle Charles's), clear, melodious, perfectly well-bred. In fact, his exterior harmonised perfectly with his poetry. He understood English. Slowly and distinctly I explained the commission which had been entrusted to me. He asked me if the resolution referred to the fraternity of the race, and seemed to understand at once the whole matter when I replied in the affirmative. I referred him to the letters accompanying the resolution for full explanation respecting the document and the manner of presenting it. He said he was very happy to receive these expressions of sympathy. He would read the letters carefully and send me an answer, which I promised to transmit to America. He accompanied me very politely to the stairs, bowed, and we parted. I was in no way disappointed; there was perfect harmony in the man and his surroundings. Doubtless he is a true man, though unable to work into practice the great thoughts he cherishes.

I went last night with my good little hostess to a