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passion, and baffled hope. The whole tone of her mind was poetical, and the most trifling occurrence of the moment,—a word spoken,—a tone heard,—a circumstance of daily life,—frequently formed the germ of what, in her active imagination, was woven into a beautiful and perfect composition. Yet it should be remembered, that, instead of trusting to her natural powers of thought and fancy, she was, through the whole course of her literary career, an ardent and unwearied student. From a course of extensive reading, she enlarged her comprehension with much that was soul-stirring and noble,—with much that was gentle and refined: and if she has not often ventured,—as Wordsworth, Crabbe, and Wilson have so powerfully done,—to descend to the delineation of what is homely in life and manners, it evidently arose from no arrogance of intellect, but simply from such themes being incompatible with the system which she