GINEVRA.

    By heaven!  You tell your tale so charmingly,
    And with such warmth and truth to life, the hearer
    Out of your words can shape a human form. 
    Why, I can see this loveliest of maidens
    Sit by the brook-side making her grimaces;
    They are right pretty faces spite of coal-smut. 
    Is it not so, Sir Percival?

Mrs. Prentiss’ translation is both spirited and faithful—­faithful in following even the irregularities of metre which mark the original.  It won the praise and admiration of some of the most accomplished judges in the country.  The following extract from a letter of the late Rev. Henry W. Bellows, D.D., may serve as an instance: 

I read it through at one sitting and enjoyed it exceedingly.  What a lovely, pure, and exalting story it is!  I confess that I prefer it to Tennyson’s recent dramas or to any of the plays upon the same or kindred themes that have lately appeared from Leighton and others.  The translation is melodious, easy, natural, and hardly bears any marks of the fetters of a tongue foreign to its author.  How admirable must have been the knowledge of German and the skill in English of the translator!

To Mrs. Condict, New York, May 2, 1876.

I do not know but I have been on too much of a drive all winter, for besides writing my book I have been painting pictures for friends, and am now at work on some wild roses for Mrs. D.’s golden wedding next Monday, and yesterday I wrote her some verses for the occasion.  The work at the Hippodrome took a great deal of my time, and there is a poor homeless fellow now at work in my garden, whom it was my privilege to lead to Christ there, and who touched me not a little this morning by bringing me three plants out of his scanty earnings.  He has connected himself with our Mission and has made friends there.

I do not know what Faber says about the silence of Christ, but I know that as far as our own consciousness goes, He often answers never a word, and that the grieved and disappointed heart must cling to Him more firmly than ever at such times.  We live in a mystery, and shall never be satisfied till we see Him as He is.  I am enjoying a great deal in a great many ways, but I am afraid I should run in if the gates opened.  If I go to the Centennial it will be to please some of the family, not myself.  You ask about my book; it is a sort of story; had to be to get read; I could finish it in two weeks if needful.  When I wrote it no mortal knows; I should say that about all I had done this winter was to hold my Bible-reading, paint, and work in the revival.  I have so few interruptions compared with my previous life, that I hardly have learned to adjust myself to them.

To Miss E. A. Warner, Philadelphia, May 30, 1876.