What is chiefly remarkable is his unconsciousness of his
mental processes, and how thoughts it would be impossible for him
to recall spring up in his mind like flowers and weeds in the soil.
But to-night he was truly in a state of lyrical inspiration, his eyes
flashing, his face glowing, and his whole composition chanted out in
an almost metrical form. He began by mourning the death of a certain
Harriet whom he had let go to foreign parts, and who had died at sea.
He described her as having "blue, sparkling eyes, and a sweet smile,"
and lamented that he could never kiss her cold lips again. This part,
which he continued for some time, was in prolonged cadences, and a
low, mournful tone, with a frequently recurring burden of "O, my
Harriet, shall I never see thee more!"
* * * * *
EXTRACT FROM JOURNAL.
* * * * *
It is so true that a woman may be in love with a woman, and a man with
a man. It is pleasant to be sure of it, because it is undoubtedly the
same love that we shall feel when we are angels, when we ascend to the
only fit place for the Mignons, where
"Sie fragen nicht nach Mann und Welb.
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