related to me, by an eye-witness, of an affecting interview between two females; the one being blind, and the other deaf and dumb. The latter was ELIZABETH KULMANN: A RUSSIAN introduced to the former as one who had never" THE bright Star of the North"-such was the heard a sound; neither music, nor the melody of birds, nor the voice of affection, nor the words of holy writ, had ever entered her ear. The blind listener to this account lifted up her hands in thankfulness and unfeigned sympathy, saying, "I have heard all these sounds," and then deeply bewailed the sorrows of her more afflicted sister. But now, she that was deaf and dumb, shaking with emotion, for her eyes had been fixed on the lips of the blind speaker reading the meaning of her words, in her turn declared with thankfulness, speaking with her fingers, that her affliction was not half so heavy as was supposed. "If," said she, "I have heard no sounds, I have been | mercifully kept from the evil and impurity of a deceitful tongue." Thus did these afflicted ones diminish their trials by dwelling on their mitiga tions. Being "born to trouble as the sparks fly upward," afflictions must and will come to us all; it becomes us all then to look to our mitigations. I take it for granted, reader, that you have some open or secret cause of sorrow; some hope that you cannot attain; some fear that you cannot avoid; or some care that is difficult to endure. My advice is, whether your affliction be a light one or a heavy one; the head-ache or the heart-ache; a fractured limb or a wounded spirit; a suffering body or a desponding soul;-look to your mitigations. Be assured we are sadly overrating our burdens and underrating our benefits, if we cannot say, "Though round us a shower of afflictions may fall, Our manifold mercies outnumber them all." The patriarch Job sets us an excellent example of falling back on our mitigations; for he seems to have kept a sort of debtor and creditor account, not only of the present but of the past. He looks a part of God's dealings with him, but at the whole, and exclaims: What! shall we receive good at the hands of God, and not receive evil? Are we doing as Job did, thankfully remembering our past mercies, and setting them against our present trials? This, whether we adopt it or not, is a wise course, an upright course, and the only course we ought to pursue. Neither past mercies, present mercies, nor fatare mercies should be forgotten in the long list of our mitigations; nor should we think lightly of newly discovered alleviations, professional skill, medicine suited to our case, kind ministerial aid, the visits of affection and friendship, the gentle voice that soothes our griefs, and the kind hand that smooths our pillow. When our trials are sharp, it is a comfort to know that they will be short; and, let the worst come to the worst, we can look beyond them. not 66 But, after all, our best mitigators will ever be God's word, God's promises, and God's presence. Having these, in all our weakness we may wage war with every trouble; whether it be care, poverty, sickness, pain, or death. "Men, brethren, kindreds, people, tongues, and nations, Count up your mercies and your mitigations." name given by Jean Paul to one of the most brilliant of early developed geniuses that ever rose above the literary horizon, dazzling for a while the astounded beholder, but then disappearing from his sight, like a meteor suddenly extinguished by the too rapid exhaustion of its own inflammable inaterials. Elizabeth Kulmann was born at St. Petersburg, July 5th, 1808, "in the humble cottage of want," as she herself expresses it in one of her poems. Her father, an officer in the Russian army, died in her earliest infancy, leaving the tender exotic plant to be brought up by her mother, amid the cares and deprivations of extreme poverty. An elder sister was married, and her seven brothers were already provided for in the army, or military schools, so that Elizabeth was the object of her mother's undivided attention. Of her brothers, nearly all perished in the wars with France. Mrs. Kulmann was a woman of superior mind and great attainments, and was well fitted, in many respects, to guide the early developed genius of her gifted child. She was a native of Germany, but spoke the language of her adopted country with the correctness of a native, and, from the birth of her daughter, carefully instructed her in the languages of both countries. Elizabeth's wonderful talent for languages, extraordinary powers of observation, and retentive memory, began to manifest themselves before she had completed her second year. She knew, in German and Russian, the names of every object that came within her sphere of observation, was an incessant talker, and found in her mother a patient listener, and an unwearied answerer, to all her innumerable questions. As her ideas expanded, she endowed, as it were, all inanimate objects in her little world with a soul; would sit for hours together, asking the different objects respecting their nature, qualities, destination, and relation to mankind; and then, personifying the object, give a ready reply to all her own questions. Let us imagine her at the age of five years, sitting on the step of their cottage door, watching a blade of grass growing in the little gutter formed by the dropping of the rain from the eaves of the house. "Who are you? Whence do you come ?" asked the child. After a short panse, as if waiting for an answer, she replied: "I am a child of the earth; our house is silent and dark. We see no sun, we hear no bird. From the roof comes the water, drop, drop, drop. That is our nourishment-a mother's milk. When we leave our cradle, our mother says, Rush your way through the covering, then you will see the sun, and hear the birds. The butterflies will greet you and admire your green dress, and near by, you will see the violet, the lily of the valley, and the rose!" We see here already the germ of that wonderful facility of invention which afterwards found vent in verse, and which enabled her to complete a long poem, full of luxuriant images and beautiful thoughts, before another would have completed the arrangement of his subject. Elizabeth gave early manifestations of that extreme sensibility to the pain of others, and that sweetness and gentleness of disposition, which was no less characteristic of her than her intellectual endowments. For a long time she could not suffer, the presence of an otherwise esteemed friend, when she heard that he was fond of shooting. "Are not the birds God's creatures," said she, "as well as we are? Why shoot them, then ?" One day she called her mother's attention to a spider in his web. "Look, mother," cried she, "how the spider is watching over these flies, that are sleeping near him. I saw him invite the fly, and then he came down stairs to conduct his guest into the room, and now see how he watches him, that he may not be disturbed in his sleep!" Beautiful illusion of an unsophisticated mind! She attained her fifth year without ever having seen a book, for her mother, knowing her incessant thirst for knowledge, had prudently removed from her sight the few that she herself possessed; at last a friend presented her with a work on natural history, with plates. This opened a new world to her inquisitive mind, and with such eagerness did she apply herself to its contents, that, with the assistance of her friend and of her mother, she soon learnt the German, French, English, Italian, and even Latin names of the objects represented. Portions of the text were read to her, and immediately she asked to be taught to read. A spelling book was given her, but she threw it aside the next day, after having learnt the words of one syllable, and applied herself to the German text of her book, which in a few weeks she read with ease. The following anecdote will afford a key to the correctness of the accent with which she afterwards spoke so many languages. She had often listened to the conversation of an Englishman, a Frenchman, and an Italian, who occasionally visited her mother, the former being the owner of their cottage, and an intimate friend. She had paid much attention to the rising and falling of the voice, in their respective languages, and could imitate it with singular exactness. In a playful mood, she took it into her head one day to imitate these languages, to an old man who daily supplied them with bread, and with whom she was a great favourite. She repeated to him the names of animals in Russian, German, and English. "Can you speak English?" cried the old man, astonished. Instead of answering, she spoke with great volubility, and without hesitation, a number of English words, at the same time raising and dropping her voice as if really conversing. She then did the same with French and Italian. The old man related the wonder to his master, who henceforth ordered him to leave his bread at the house, even if they had no money to pay for it. Often, alas! did this kindness of the worthy baker save mother and daughter from going to bed supperless. So acute were Elizabeth's powers of observation, that she could recal the most trivial circumstance years after it happened. She was only two years and a half old when she accompanied her mother one day to the house of their landlord, the above mentioned Englishman. The child was busily occupied with her doll, when the landlord folded up a paper, about which he had been talking to her mother, and going to a closet in an adjoining room, unlocked it and laid the paper in a drawer. Three years afterwards he was regretting to Mrs. Kulmann the loss of the document, which he had some indistinct recollection of having once shown her at his house. Elizabeth recalled to his memory, not only the day when it happened, but also the minutest circumstances, and described exactly where he had laid the paper. He ran home, and soon returned with a large cactus, which Elizabeth had often admired, exclaiming, "Admirable child! you are my memory. If I were emperor, you should be my secretary of state." Elizabeth had hitherto received all her instruction from her mother; she now found one teacher worthy of such a pupil, in the friend who had presented her with the book on natural history. He was a German, and possessed great classical attainments, and was familiar with many modern languages. A tutor by profession, and engaged dur ing the day in the wearing and arduous duties of his calling, he devoted his holidays and leisure hours to the instruction of Elizabeth! Under his guidance she learned writing, history, and geography, and before the completion of her seventh year, the forms of countries, the courses of rivers, the situations of towns, and the principal historical events, were firmly fixed in her mind, never afterwards to be forgotten. She soon became acquainted with French, having learned to speak it fluently in three months. Being well versed in German, from the instruction of her mother, she learnt many little poems in that language by heart, but had as yet no clear idea of rhythm. She had often. questioned her instructor on this point, but he, as if fearing the too early development of those extraordinary poetical powers with which he saw she was endowed, carefully avoided all allusion to the subject, and evaded even her direct questions. This silence on a point with which she was sure he was acquainted, excited her curiosity, and she meditated for herself. She remarked the rhymes, counted the syllables, and resolved on making the attempt to produce something. The result was a poem, that put an end to the silence of her friend, who then initiated her into the mysteries of versification. From this time she almost seemed to live but for two things-to acquire knowledge, and then to give it new forms in her own poetical composi tions. The Italian language was soon added to her other acquirements. Scarcely had she taken three lessons when she exclaimed with rapture, that she should study no tongue with such zeal and pleasure. So well did she keep her word, that in a few months she wrote it with elegance, and indeed she never required more than three months to learn a living language. It was on her tenth birthday that her instructor came to dine with them, bringing with him a large piece of Elizabeth's favourite gingerbread. When dinner was over, it was presented to her, and she was told to break it in two. She did so, when lo! a little book was concealed within it. She glanced at the first page. "Tasso! Oh, I have Tasso!" cried the child, weeping with joy, and dancing about the room; Tasso, dear Tasso, I will learn you by heart." She then counted the stanzas, and reckoned how long it would take her to learn the whole, allowing three stanzas for each day. on the third day, she exceeded the limits she had allowed herself, and in a short time never learnt less than nine verses a day. She had hitherto But spoken Russian with their landlord. How surprised was he one day, on being addressed by her in excellent English. She had studied it only for a month or two, and from that day never spoke anything to him but his own tongue.* Some English strangers presented her with Milton's works, which soon became her favourite reading in that language. A change now took place in the domestic arrangements of the Kulmanns, beneficial for both mother and daughter. Two dear friends, who had rendered the former constant pecuniary assistance, were dead, and it was with the greatest difficulty that they could procure oil and wood-important articles of winter consumption in a Russian household. Their landlord, who loved Elizabeth as his own child, reduced their rent to an almost nominal amount, but it was still more than they could discharge. Through the medium of an old friend of the family, named Meder, who had been appointed to an official situation in St. Petersburg, they made the acquaintance of an aged priest, named Abram Abramow, who had lost his wife, and lately also his only daughter. On hearing of Elizabeth's talent and her mother's poverty, the old man immediately offered them an asylum in his house, which was now too large for himself. The abovementioned friend had two daughters, and as he possessed great scientific knowledge, he devoted himself to their education, Elizabeth being allowed to join them in their lessons. She thus learnt botany, mineralogy, natural philosophy, and mathematics, with music and drawing. Elizabeth had often heard her two new benefactors speaking Latin together, and to hear a language with which she was unacquainted was but to excite in her mind a longing desire to gain a knowledge of it. She wished to show her gratitude to Abramow by learning Latin, and congratulating him in that tongue on his next birthday. "Is Latin difficult?" asked she of her tutor, who still continued his occasional instructions. "For you no language is difficult," was the reply; "in six months you will know it as well as you do your other languages." "Will you teach me ?" Willingly. To-morrow I will send you a grammar, which you will learn by heart at your leisure." She had formed an idea that Latin was difficult, and therefore resolved to be doubly diligent. Such, accordingly, was her extraordinary perseverance and capacity that in less than three months she had completely mastered the difficulties of Cornelius Nepos, Cæsar, and Cieero! She then turned her attention to Greek. She had listened attentively one evening to a conversation on the advantages to be derived from the study of the dead languages. Her enthusiastic and profound attention had not escaped the watchful eye of her friend and instructor. He was fully prepared for what followed on his next visit. She was abstracted, and unusually quiet during her lessons, and he at once perceived that she was absorbed by some new plan that she had conceived, and immediately guessed what that project was. "How warmly we disputed the other night on Homer and the ancients," said he, with a scrutinizing glance at his pupil. "Oh yes," cried she, her eye lighting up with enthusiasm, "and I feel you were quite right." "Shall we learn Greek ?" said he. Elizabeth smiled. "You will not be the only female who has known Greek: Madame Dacier has even translated Homer." Elizabeth seized her tutor's hand with joy. In six months Homer was her favourite author. She had casually heard of the celebrated Italian linguist, Mezzofanti,* afterwards cardinal, who at that time was acquainted with thirty-six languages. She resolved to tread in his footsteps, in so far as to become acquainted with every language that could store her mind with new ideas, thus differing from her proposed model, with whom the learning of languages was a mere passion. Before she had completed her sixteenth year, she learnt modern Greek, Spanish, Portuguese, and Sclavonian, making in all eleven tongues, eight of which she spoke fluently. She was preparing to study Persian and Arabian, when her first illness interrupted her studies. In three of the above languages, Russian, German, and Italian, she wrote with a purity of diction which no native could excel; and most of the poems she composed in either of these tongues, were immediately translated by her into the other two. Her future destination had often been a subject of anxiety to her mother, who saw the necessity of her gaining her own living. Her instructor, convinced of her high poetical powers, but wishing to have the opinion of one whose judgment none could dispute, wrote to a friend of his in Germany, inclosing some of her poems in German, Italian, and French, and requested him to obtain Goethe's opinion of them. We give an extract from the answer :-" On my reading The Stream,' Goethe listened with attention, and when I had finished, exclaimed, Boldly imagined and boldly executed!' He then read himself, and on reading The Lightning,' exclaimed repeatedly, Excellent, excellent! Tell the young poetess in my name, in Goethe's name, that I prophesy her a high rank in literature, in whichever of the languages known to her she may choose to write.'" Elizabeth was endowed with other qualities which would have been sufficient to raise her to eminence. She possessed a beautiful voice, which had been highly cultivated by the old priest, and whenever a foreigner happened to come to their house, she had always his national songs ready, which she sang with such taste, spirit, and feeling, that her hearers were filled with astonishment and admiration. To an Italian, on one occasion, she repeated some verses of Metastasio and Tasso. "What a marvel!" he exclaimed. "You have figure, action, feeling, expression, and a voice such as I have never heard before, though I have travelled over the whole of Europe." Of the self-denial she was capable of, when the pleasure of others was concerned, the following anecdote gives pleasing evidence. She was invited by some friends to attend the performance of some music of a very high order, of which she was pas sionately fond. For several days she was greatly elated in anticipation of the coming treat. very evening, however, when she was to have On the Mezzofanti died March 16th, 1849, in the 75th year of his age. He is said to have known more or less of 56 Inaguages, enjoyed it, her tutor, whom she now seldom saw, and who happened to be at liberty, called to spend the evening with her. She immediately despatched a note of excuse to her friends, and all their endeavours to induce her to go were in vain. It was not till some days afterwards that her instructor heard of what pleasure he had been the unconscious means of depriving her. "It would have been ungrateful of me," said she," to have left the company of even a less benefactor, but what name would my conduct have deserved if I had quitted you, my greatest benefactor on earth? Even if I had been sure that I would never have had another opportunity of hearing the music, I would not, under such circumstances, have gone." With all her talents and acquirements she was modest and retiring in company, and seldom ventured to offer her opinion unless it was asked for. But when it was solicited, she was no longer the timid listener, but the leader of the conversation; while on disputable points, the most learned found in her an antagonist who gained their love and esteem, as much as she excited their wonder and astonishment. Nor was she less remarkable for the love of order she manifested in every action of daily life. Never was a book lent to her known to have a stain upon it when returned; hence all her friends willingly intrusted her with whatever books she required. In one thing," said she, jestingly, "I am superior even to Franklin-the order in which I keep all that belongs to me, for Franklin complains that he could not keep his papers in such order as he would have wished." She was extremely neat in her person, and was never seen in an untidy or dirty dress, even during the period of her greatest poverty. On the occasion of some festival, the prettiness and even elegance of her attire attracted general attention. "It is only calico," said she, laughing," and, like many of the boldest pictures and expressions of the poets, looks well at a distance; but you must not examine their texture. For instance, Milton's darkness visible' is a picture which astonishes the boldest imagination; but if you look at it closer, (pardon me, beloved Milton, if I speak the truth, in spite of my veneration for you), you find it nothing but nonsense." beth, being obliged to wait for the carriage, during stormy weather, had caught cold. Her brother invited her to spend some days with them, to which she unwillingly consented, as she felt unwell. It was during her residence here that the inundation happened. She was separated from her mother, and uncertain as to her fate. Her brother's house was filled with the weeping and wailing families who dwelt on the ground floors of the neighbouring houses, which were filled with water. Amidst the general distress and confusion, Elizabeth was seen on her knees in a corner, fervently praying to God for the safety of her mother and all the afflicted. The waters at length subsided, but Elizabeth's health was permanently injured by the unpropitious character of the season. Her tutor took the first opportunity of coming to inquire after her. One glance revealed to him the change that had come over her; and he turned pale when she greeted him with the melancholy words, "The prophecy of the nurse is fulfilled.” We need hardly add, however, that there was no connexion between the two events of the nurse's prediction and her untimely end. As a delicate child, it was obvious to all that she was exposed to special risks. As we are now arrived almost at the close of her poetical career, we will pause to take a glance at the literary works she left behind her. 1. The Gallery of Pictures in Sixty Saloons. This is a collection of short poems on all subjects. 2. Translations of Anacreon in eight languages. 3. Translation of Oserow's tragedies. 4. Translations of two of Alfieri's tragedies in German, and of his "Saul" in Russian. 5. "Poetical Attempts" in German, Russian, and Italian. 6. Translation of Iriarte's Fables, from the Spanish; fragments of Camoen's Lusiade and thirty odes of Manoel; fragments of Milton's Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained; several poems of Metastasio; all into German. 7. Tales, Russian, oriental, and foreign; all written in Russian, with the exception of two in German. 8. The national songs of Modern Greece. This was her last work. To give an idea of the extent of the above works, we will only remark, that the edition of them now before us, containing only her original poems in German, is a large octavo volume of 670 pages, each with double columns. They were first published in Germany in 1846, and have already reached the sixth edition. It will naturally be asked, How is it possible that one so young could write works, which, if written by a man who had attained the age of half a cen tury, would entitle him to be called a productive genius? A glance at her daily life will explain much of the mystery, and show how far natural genius was assisted by an almost supernatural industry and perseverance. Up to her sixteenth year, her constitution, though delicate, had been such as to give hopes of a much longer life than she was destined to enjoy. At her birth the nurse had said she would be a talented child, but would not live long. This prophecy, the latter part of which it required no great skill to make, had been carefully concealed from her by her mother, till it was accidentally revealed to her by a well-meaning but foolish gossip of their acquaintance. An expression of unpleasantness was painted on the countenances of all present (for the Russians are somewhat superstitious), and the ominous words, which Elizabeth saw at a glance had been pur- Since her eleventh year, Elizabeth never slept posely kept back from her, made a lasting impres- more than six hours. On rising in the morning, sion on her mind. Her tutor, however, with the her first thought was her prayers, which she rehelp of prophecies which had failed in their fulfil-peated with every mark of an inward, fervent dement, succeeded in calming her, and she regained her wonted cheerfulness. In 1824, St. Petersburg was visited by an inundation, terrible in its effects for the Kulmanns, and for the inhabitants in general. A few days previously, her eldest brother had married, and Eliza votion. Her toilet never occupied more than six or seven minutes, though, as we have said, she was always neat and clean. Breakfast also was the occupation of a few minutes only, and “even this time I sometimes gain," said she, "for if we hap pen to have no tea in the house, I take my piece of bread in one hand and my pen in the other, and sit down to work." It is said, that a poet's life is his works. This was especially the case with Elizabeth Kulmann. She lived and breathed but in poetry. At halfpast six she sat down to her desk, where she remained till one, absorbed in the composition of her poems, never suffering herself to be distracted by what was going on around her. It is recorded of her, that she seemed to be writing under the dictation of an invisible attendant, rather than committing to paper the produce of her own brain, so rapidly did she write. She has been known to write a poem of 500 lines in twelve hours, her manuscript showing that not more than twentyseven lines had been subjected to correction. Many of these lines are, doubtless, not what would have satisfied her riper years; but none are unworthy of her, and many contain beauties which few poets have excelled. At one o'clock, she laid her pen aside, and, walking about the room, would join the conversation of her friends. At half-past one she partook of her extremely simple dinner, of which meat seldom formed a part, neither she nor her mother being partial to it. Walking and conversation filled up the time till half-past two, when she began to work again. This time, however, it was not with the pen, but with books, to gather new ideas which were to be moulded into poetical forms on the following day. Her afternoon studies were generally performed walking or standing; but she was not the less absorbed in them, and fully abstracted from the world around her. At tea-time, her classical studies were laid aside, and she found time for music, drawing, embroidery, and even plain sewing. Her mother often read aloud to her during the latter occupations; and the remarks of mother and daughter are said to have been such as would have done honour even to the learned. Three or four times a week, at nine o'clock in the evening, she used to visit their friend Mr. Meder, where, in the shape of conversation, she gained an extensive knowledge of astronomy, geology, and natural philosophy. Never, perhaps, were thirst of knowledge, memory, and activity, united in one individual in so high a degree as in Elizabeth Kulmann. But the secret spring which set in motion such extraordinary perseverance must be sought in her ambition, or rather in her innate aspirations for fame. "I will acquire fame," said she, "but how? certainly not by inaction. Well, I will be active. What is necessary in order to be a poet? Knowledge, knowledge of a thousand different kinds, invention, unceasing activity in execution; in a word, the determination to be a poet." Earthly fame is a poor and fleeting object of pursuit; and although she has used that term, yet we think that she did not employ it in the ordinary sense of the word, for her industry was founded rather on the conviction that she had been gifted with great abilities, and a desire to be a pattern to others of diligently improving them. A few of the little poems found among her papers after her death, prove that it was not without a feeling of regret that she saw her early career drawing to a close. Others, however, prove really resigned to her lot, as her behaviour on her death-bed proved to those beloved that she was ones who wept beside her. She died on the 19th of November, 1825, aged seventeen years and three months. Three nations have given her an honourable rank among their native poets. A monument was erected to her memory by the Empress Alexandra Feodorowna and the Grand Duchess Helena Pawlowna, both of whom had paid her marks of distinction during her lifetime. On the monument are eleven inscriptions in the different languages with which she was acquainted. In Latin are the words: "The first Russian female who learned Greek, understood eleven languages, spoke eight, and, though a young girl, yet was a distinguished poetess.' In English are the words: "She from her early days prepared herself for heaven." We do not know enough of her "interior life" to know the grounds on which this conclusion rests. But her whole career is certainly well fitted to teach us the lesson of the slight tenure by which the highest earthly gifts are held; and the wisdom, therefore, of making that preparation which her tombstone declares that she did. Our daily life should indeed be a constant preparation for heaven, by seeking and diligently using those supplies of the Holy Spirit's grace, which are so freely imparted to all who ask for them aright. THE WEST INDIA MAIL PACKET. THIS paper will probably be read with more than usual interest at the present moment, when the public attention is drawn to the West India steamers at Southampton, in connexion with the dangerous cases of yellow fever which have occurred on board of some of them. It was a bright but not a warm morning in May, for the east wind, so fertile in catarrhs, coughs, and influenzas, was blowing, as it had been for several weeks, when the scene with which we wish to associate the reader, for the nonce, was presented by the Southampton Docks. Owing to her position with respect to the opposite coast of France, Southampton has been for a long period an important station for travellers to and from the Continent. Its importance, however, in this respect, has been vastly increased since the opening of the South Western Railway, at the cost of more than £2,000,000, by which the town has been brought into the condition of a kind of outport of the metropolis, the distance being traversed in less than three hours. In addition, also, to being the principal station of the steamers for Havre, Dieppe, and other French ports, the Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Company run the whole of their vessels from the Southampton Docks to Alexandria and Lisbon; and more recently, the Royal West India Mail Packet Company have started their steam-ships from it; and on the banks of the Itchen-which, rising at Cheriton, flows through the ancient city of Winchester, and afterwards falls into the arm of the sea, called Southampton Water"-have constructed repairing wharfs and a graving-dock. 66 | Looking at a small steamer which lies against the side of the dock, and in which a few persons are bustling about, the ears are assailed by a lumbering, grating noise; and the cause is clear, |