But Redi is not always bacchanalian. He has a loving, human heart as well, which Landor has shown in a charming translation given to me shortly after our conversation concerning this poet. "I never publish translations," he remarked at the time; but though translations may not be fit company for the "Imaginary Conversations," the verses from Redi are more than worthy of an abiding place here. "Ye gentle souls! ye love-devoted fair! Who, passing by, to Pity's voice incline, O stay awhile and hear me; then declare If there was ever grief that equals mine. "There was a woman to whose sacred breast Faith had retired, where Honor fixt his throne, Pride, though upheld by Virtue she represt.... Ye gentle souls! that woman was my own. "Beauty was more than beauty in her face, Grace was in all she did, in all she said. In sorrow as in pleasure there was grace.... Ye gentle souls! that gentle soul is fled." FOOTNOTES: [C] Out of three hundred and forty-eight pages, sixty-eight are devoted to Latin verses. TO-MORROW. 'Tis late at night, and in the realm of sleep My little lambs are folded like the flocks; From room to room I hear the wakeful clocks Challenge the passing hour, like guards that keep Their solitary watch on tower and steep; Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks, And through the opening door that time unlocks Feel the fresh breathing of To-morrow creep. To-morrow! the mysterious, unknown guest, Who cries aloud: "Remember Barmecide, And tremble to be happy with the rest!" And I make answer: "I am satisfied; I dare not ask; I know not what is best; God hath already said what shall betide." DOCTOR JOHNS. LVIII. A letter from Reuben indeed has come; but not for Miss Adele. The Doctor is glad of the relief its perusal will give him. Meantime Miss Eliza, in her stately, patronizing manner, and with a coolness that was worse than a sneer, says, "I hope you have pleasant news from your various friends abroad, Miss Maverick?" Adele lifted her eyes with a glitter in them that for a moment was almost serpent-like; then, as if regretting her show of vexation, and with an evasive reply, bowed her head again to brood over the strange suspicions that haunted her. Miss Johns, totally unmoved,--thinking all the grief but a righteous dispensation for the sin in which the poor child had been born,--next addressed the Doctor, who had run his eye with extraordinary eagerness through the letter of his son. "What does Reuben say, Benjamin?" "His 'idols,' again, Eliza; 't is always the 'flesh-pots of Egypt.'"