ned, as those things do happen in dear, provoking London, where one
is sure to miss the people one wishes most to see, that neither party
had ever been at home; so that we had never met, and I was at full
liberty to indulge in my foolish propensity of sketching in my mind's
eye a fancy portrait of my unknown friend.

Il Penseroso is not more different from L'Allegro than was my
anticipation from the charming reality. Remembering well her mother's
delicate and fragile grace of figure and countenance, and coupling with
that recollection her own unprotected and solitary state, and somewhat
melancholy story, I had pictured to myself (as if contrast were not in
this world of ours much more frequent than congruity) a mild, pensive,
interesting, fair-haired beauty, tall, pale, and slender;--I found
a Hebe, an Euphrosyne,--a round, rosy, joyous creature, the very
impersonation of youth, health, sweetness, and gaiety, laughter flashing
from her hazel eyes, smiles dimpling round her coral lips, and the rich
curls of her chestnut hair,--for having been fourteen months a widow,
she had, of course, laid aside the peculiar dress,--the glossy ringlets
of her "bonny brown hair" literally bursting from the comb that
attempted to confine them.

We soon found that her mind was as charming as her person. Indeed, her
face, lovely as it was, derived the best part of its loveliness from her
sunny temper, her frank and ardent spirit, her affectionate and generous
heart. It was the ever-varying expression, an expression which could
not deceive, that lent such matchless charms to her glowing and animated
countenance, and to the round and musical voice sweet as the spoken
voice of Malibran, or the still fuller and more exquisite tones of Mrs.
Jordan, which, true to the feeling of the moment, vibrated alike to the
wildest gaiety and the deepest pathos. In a word, the chief beauty of
Helen Cameron was her sensibility. It was the perfume to the rose.

Her little boy, born just before his father's death, and upon whom she
doated, was a magnificent piece of still life. Calm, placid, dignified,
an infant Hercules for strength and fair proportions, grave as a
judge, quiet as a flower, he was, in point of age, exactly at that most
delightful period when children are very pleasant to look upon, and
require no other sort of notice whatsoever. Of course this state of
perfection could not be expected to continue. The young gentleman
would soon aspire to th