the spot, of which seven were flourishing in 1844, and probably are still.* A view of this spot faces the titlepage of this volume.

And so the sea and the earth closed over one who was great as a poet, and still greater as a philanthropist ; and of whom it may be said, that his wild, spiritual character, seems to have prepared him for being thus snatched from life under circumstances of mingled terror and beauty, while his powers were yet in their spring freshness, and age had not come to render the ethereal body decrepit, or to wither the heart which could not be consumed by fire.

* The facts, on which the foregoing description of the burning of the bodies is based, are derived from Captain Medwin's Conversations of Lord Byron; Mr. Trelawny's Recollections of the Last Days of Shelley and Byron; and Leigh Hunt's Autobiography.

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CHAPTER XIV.

MARY SHELLEY.

A WIDOW at four-and-twenty years of age; left in a foreign land, with no certain income, and with a child to support; coldly regarded by her husband's family, and possessed of no influential friends in England ;— Mrs. Shelley now entered on a struggle which she has described as "lonely" and "unsolaced," but which she encountered in the true spirit of heroism, and lived to see crowned with success and rewarded by happier days.

The first emotions of horror at the death of her husband gave place to grief of a calmer, but more intense kind. It will be seen, in the ensuing letters, and in the journal which follows them, how deep was the agony which the young widowed heart endured; how abiding the sense of loss; how omnipresent the recollection of him whose genius now became associated with all sights and sounds of earth, sky, and ocean. Italy had been the chosen land of Shelley; and his widow, though meeting everywhere with some ghost of old companionship, some memory of that which had vanished for ever in this life, clung for a long while to the country

which had witnessed her greatest joy and her wildest She very speedily, however, left the Bay of Spezia, and took up her residence at Pisa.

sorrow.

But she was not without comforters in her grief. Foremost among the letters she received from England must be placed one from her father, who, on the 9th of August, 1822, writes:

"My poor girl! What do you mean to do with yourself? You surely do not mean to stay in Italy? How glad I should be to be near you, and to endeavour by new expedients each day to make up for your loss! But you are the best judge. If Italy is a country to which in these few years you are naturalized, and if England is become dull and odious to you, then stay.

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'I should think, however, that now you have lost your closest friend, your mind would naturally turn homewards, and [to] your earliest friend. Is it not so? Surely we might be a great support to each other, under the trials to which we are reserved. What signify a few outward adversities, if we find a friend at home?

"Above all, let me entreat you to keep up your courage. You have many duties to perform; you must now be the father, as well as the mother; and I trust you have energy of character enough to enable you to perform your duties honourably and well. "Ever and ever most affectionately yours,

"W. GODWIN."

From Mrs. Shelley to Miss Curran.

"MY DEAR MISS CURRAN,

Pisa, July 26th, 1822.

"You will have received my letter concerning the pictures, and now I have another request to make. Your kindness to us when we were both so unhappy*—your great kindness-makes me do this without that feeling of unwillingness which I have in asking favours of any other person. Besides, you are unhappy, and therefore can better sympathise with and console the miserable.

* From the loss of their son William, at Rome.-ED.

You would greatly oblige me if you would get me from one of those shops in the Piazza di Spagna two mosaic stones, about as large as a half-crown piece. On one I wish an heartsease to be depicted; they call these flowers in Italian Socera huora, or Viola far falla, Viola regolina, Viola renagola; on the other (I think I have seen such a one), a view of the tomb of Cestius. I remember also that in one of your rooms there was a view of this place, and the people of the house might part with it, or a modern artist at Rome might make one for me, which would give me great pleasure. The difficulty is to pay you for these things; but as soon (if you have the extreme kindness to fulfil my requests) as I know what money you spend for me, I will take care it shall be remitted to you without delay.

"Will you indeed, my dear Miss Curran, do as I ask you? Alas! these trifles (not the picture-that is no trifle) serve as a kind of vent for those sentiments of personal affection and attentions which are so cruelly crushed for ever. In a little poem of his are these words: 'Pansies let my flowers be.' Pansies are heartsease; and in another he says, that pansies mean memory. So I would make myself a locket to wear in eternal memory, with the representation of his flower, and with his hair; such things must now do instead of words of love, and the dear habit of seeing him daily. Pity me, then, and indulge me.

"In my last letter I was so selfish, that I did not ask after your welfare. Pray write to me. I must ever be grateful to you for your kindness to us in misfortune; and how much more when, through your talents and your goodness, I shall possess the only likeness that is of my husband's earthly form.

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My little Percy is well-not so beautiful as William, though there is some resemblance.

"Yours ever truly,

"MARY W. SHELLEY."

From the same to the same.

"MY DEAR MISS CURRAN,

Pisa, August 14th, 1822.

"I HAVE written two letters to you, requesting that favour now nearer my heart than any other earthly thing-the picture of my Shelley. Perhaps you have been at Gensano, and that delays

your reply; perhaps you have altered your residence, and have not received my letters.

"I am well; so is my boy. We leave Italy soon; so I am particularly anxious to obtain this treasure, which I am sure you will give me as soon as possible. I have no other likeness of him; and, in so utter desolation, how invaluable to me is your picture!* Will you not send it? Will you not answer me without delay? Your former kindness bids me hope everything.

"Very sincerely yours,

"M. W. SHELLEY."

From Mrs. Shelley to Mrs. Gisborne.

Pisa, September 10th, 1822.

"AND So here I am! I continue to exist; to see one day succeed the other; to dread night, but more to dread morning, and hail another cheerless day. My boy, too, is, alas! no consolation. When I think how he loved him-the plans he had for his education-his sweet and childish voice strikes me to the heart. Why should he live in this world of pain and anguish? And if he went I should go too, and we should all sleep in peace.

"At times, I feel an energy within me to combat with my destiny-but again I sink. I have but one hope, for which I liveto render myself worthy to join him; and such a feeling sustains me during moments of enthusiasm; but darkness and misery soon overwhelm the mind, when all near objects bring agony alone with them. People used to call me lucky in my star: you see now how true such a prophecy is!

"I was fortunate in having fearlessly placed my destiny in the hands of one who-a superior being among men, a bright planetary spirit enshrined in an earthly temple-raised me to the height of happiness. So far am I now happy, that I would not change my situation as his widow with that of the most prosperous woman in the world; and surely the time will at length come when I shall be at peace, and my brain and heart be no longer alive with unutterable anguish. I can conceive but of one cir

*Of Shelley.-ED.